


Never On a Sunday

by writworm42



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Awkward Boners, Bottom Derek, Breaking Celibacy Vows, Disability, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, Human AU, M/M, Masturbation, Religion, Single Parent Stiles Stilinski, Suburbia, derek has no concept of personal space, lydia martin is allison hendrix tbh, pastor derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-13
Updated: 2016-04-30
Packaged: 2018-04-09 04:41:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 35,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4334270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writworm42/pseuds/writworm42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is just your average single suburban dad, doing average single suburban dad things while he raises his 6-year-old twins. Things like work, BBQ, deliberately annoying the head of the neighbourhood PTA committee, and pretending to be a Christian in order to get in the pants of a certain local pastor.</p><p>Hey, it's not /his/ fault that Rev Hale's as hot as sin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from the Chordettes song of the same name, which may or may not have been my #1 song to obnoxiously loop while I wrote this thing.
> 
> I would like to preface this fic with the fact that I am a devout Christian myself, one who one day hopes to go into ministry. That doesn't mean I have no sense of humour. 
> 
> This story is meant in good fun, but obviously not everything expressed is my actual view towards religion. The concept of someone faking religion for sex is, understandably, a very offensive one--if you are triggered or made uncomfortable by potentially blasphemous themes such as this, I'd say this fic is not for you. Stiles grows more respectful over time, and I in no way actually condone his fictional behaviour, but hey, I understand that the core concept/act is something that not everyone wants to read for a variety of reasons. Please exercise caution accordingly.
> 
> Also, big huge props to roadsider, the best beta anyone could ask for <3

If there’s one place Stiles never expected to find himself on a Friday night, it was in the backyard of a united church, munching on a hot dog while trying to keep his kids as far away from the crucifix-lanyard craft-station as possible. It’s not that Stiles has anything _against_ organized religion, more just that he’s never been a part of it. His father, growing up, had been firmly atheist, and he’d been trying to instill the same sort of skepticism in Scott and Allison. And he’d done a good job—Scott and Allison had a natural curiosity Stiles was doing his best to nurture, and for a pair of 6-year-olds asked some wonderfully insightful questions.

That is, until a particularly heavy week at work had left him with a completely empty fridge and two screaming, antsy children. Stiles had been about to grab the phone and dial for pizza amid complaints of “ _But we had that_ last _night, daddy!_ ” when a knock at the door announced the always-timely arrival of one of his neighbours.

Not for the first time, Stiles wished he could move out of the suburbs.

When he opens the door, Lydia, one of the soccer-moms-next-door who was always chipperly inviting him to things he never actually attended, is standing there, her usual perfect smile, perfect jeans, and perfect sweater with perfect pearl necklace peeking out taunting him and his imperfect family from his very own front porch.

“Stiles, hi!” Stiles, bracing himself for the spiel, sucks in his breath and mutters back a generic, disinterested greeting, his eyes averted. Of course, that doesn’t deter Lydia, who without skipping a beat launches right into her steamroll-sermon. Stiles is only half listening at first, then about halfway through the word _church_ floats out and Stiles takes his leave to begin closing the door.

“Wait! I forgot to mention, there’s free dinner!” Lydia lunges forward, apparently meaning to force her way in-between Stiles and her closing opportunity, but Stiles had already swung the door back open.

“I’m listening.”

“We’re heading over there right now, actually, if you’d like to come. It’s at Beacon Hills United. Oh, and don’t worry—the kids don’t have to dress up.” she eyes Stiles’ work-scrumpled scrubs up and down. He’s so happy about the prospect of a free opportunity to dump the kids for dinner while he shops, though, that he hardly even registers her judgment.

“Sounds like tons of fun. Why don’t Allison and Scott go with you?” he asks.

“Oh, sorry, but Kira’s kids are already carpooling. You know how it is,” she laughs. “But you can always take them yourself! The event’s more of a… whole-family thing, anyway.”

 _Bitch_ , Stiles thinks. Sure, he had been planning on dumping the kids and running, but Lydia didn’t have to _know_ that. Could have at least had the decency to pretend, anyway.

“Of course. Great. I’ll go get my keys.” he begins to close the door again, and Lydia jumps forward to stop him again.

“Oh, but Stiles, you’re going to change fir—“ but Stiles isn’t having it.

“See you at church, Lydia!”

Stiles has to admit, Beacon Hills United is a nice place. The backyard, where the family fun night is being held, is spacious and green, complete with a cute little vegetable garden and various species of petunias. There’s a small, though rickety, playscape in the middle of the terrain, and the smell of barbeque makes Stiles’ mouth water even as he rolls the minivan into the near-empty parking-lot.

“Food! Food food food!” the twins wriggle around in their carseats, flapping their hands and swinging their legs in anticipation. Stiles chuckles.

“All right, rugrats, calm down.” He looks around for other families, and sure enough sees a few parents followed by straggling kids trudging towards the parking lot. It’s a bit weird, seeing such a small gathering in such a nice place, but Stiles doesn’t question. He’s only here for the hot dogs, after all, and hey, more for him, right?

“Go nuts,” he tells the kids, reaching back to undo Scott’s seatbelt for him. Allison, a little better with her hands than her brother, has already wrestled free of her carseat and is halfway across the parking-lot by the time Stiles helps Scott down from the car and onto solid ground.

“That’s a big jump,” Scott nods sagely, and Stiles tries to keep from laughing. He makes a note to talk to Scott’s OT about working on more gross-motor stuff as he leads the kid to where Allison is tapping her feet, practically doubling over with impatience.

“All right, why don’t we grab some dinner, huh?” Stiles finally catches up to his daughter and grabs her hand, leading both children into the clearing where the other families have gathered. From here, he can see that the yard’s been set up with different stations aside from the playscape, various activities scattered on blankets or lawn-tables for the kids to do. A quick go-round, though, reveals that, with the exception of a few Tonka trucks, everything is at least vaguely Jesus-ified.

 _Fucking Lydia_ , Stiles thinks begrudgingly, hugging the kids a little closer. It’s a useless effort, meant more to comfort Stiles than to actually protect his kids from the imminent threat of Sunday morning values; the minute Scott sees a Thomas the Train Engine book among a pile of Junior Bible Cardboard Stories, he’s gone, and Allison charges off to join some other kids on the playscape, dinner apparently completely forgotten.

Traitors.

“Cute kids. How old are they?” Stiles turns around and his jaw immediately goes slack. Standing in front of him, talking _directly to him_ , is the most attractive man Stiles has ever seen. Black hair combed over and gelled neatly upwards, brilliant green eyes, and adorable bunny teeth smile back at Stiles, arms folded easily across a probably magnificent chest clad in a cleanly-pressed, collared linen shirt that makes Stiles actually feel a little ashamed of the scrubs he’s wearing.

“Uh… Twins. I mean six. Both. I mean, both six twins. They’re both… They’re both twins. Who are six.” Stiles stammers out, cursing himself inwardly for coming across so as uncool. The man doesn’t seem to notice, though, and instead nods and gives a playful whistle.

“Twins, wow. And that age too, must be a real handful for a single parent.” Stiles must have looked taken aback by that remark, because Hot Churchgoer immediately backtracks, green eyes widening and cheeks almost forming a bit of a blush.

“Oh, jeepers, that was totally inappropriate. Goodness, I’m—“ but Stiles waves off the apology.

“No problem,” he laughs, “I’ve been alone for quite a while. And it can be a handful sometimes, but,” he looks back at the throng of kids eating on the grass, Allison mingling with the others as she scarfs her meal (extra ketchup, extra onions, _noooo mustard_ , just the way she likes it)and Scott sitting a little ways away, staring into space as he takes a bite of his bunless, ketchupless dog, “I do whatever I can for them. I’d do anything, really.”

“Wouldn’t we all,” Hot Churchgoer smiles and nods, his voice thick with the pretenses of softness and understanding.

“Mm.” Stiles takes a moment to wave to the twins before giving his full attention to the guy in front of him. Just beyond Hot Churchgoer’s shoulder, Stiles has a nice view of Lydia looking very jealous, a fact that only makes him want to flirt harder. “My name’s Stiles, by the way.” he extends a hand, which Hot Churchgoer takes with surprising force, shaking it in a small, quick, and firm movement.

“Nice to meet you, Stiles. I’m Derek, I’m the senior reverend here at Beacon Hills United.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goddammit, Lydia.  
> .


	2. It Takes a Church

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, Stiles' schemes bite him in the ass. This happens especially when he's Doing It For Love, or just plain drunk.
> 
> But if he's both, they should cancel each other out, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title taken from the Christian TV show of the same name wherein a congregation and its pastor matchmakes a single member. 
> 
> Yes, it's as great as it sounds.

A reverend. A fucking _reverend_.

 Stiles pours himself another shot of vodka and downs it in one go, sniffing as he places his head in hands. It’s 10 o’clock and the kids are long in bed, meaning Stiles has a very long time to mull over the shameful events of the evening.

Derek and Stiles had spent the entire evening together, watching Allison and Scott from a distance and talking about everything from work to parenthood to their academic backgrounds. Like Stiles, Derek had played lacrosse in college. Unlike Stiles, who had studied medicine and dentistry at home in California, though, Derek was from Alaska, where he’d gotten halfway through a master’s degree in wildlife conservation before “feeling the call”, as he put it, and winding up in Beacon Hills. It was a nice talk, Stiles had to admit, and felt easy.

Stiles rarely felt easy in conversation any more. So when Derek made a remark about how it’s always nice to see “new faces” in “our little family”, Stiles felt obligated to keep the good vibe going.

“Totally!” he’d returned. “Always good to see such a vibrant, family-based, er… faith community. Definitely something I really look for… Uh, for the kids.”

And that’s when Derek had, well, popped the question.

 _Definitely. So, we’ll see you this Sunday?_  

“Yup, of course! Can’t wait!” Stiles can still hear his chipper response, impulsively spit out before he could think to stop himself. He groans.

He couldn’t tell what was worse—the fact that he’d been charmed into pretending to be a Christian, or the fact that he was still charmed enough to _actually consider going_.

It would be confusing for Allison and Scott to go to church. And a compromise of his values. Plus, Stiles is _pretty sure_ it could be considered disrespectful to attend a sermon for the sole purpose of watching the pastor’s mouth for an hour.

On the other hand, it’s 10 PM and Stiles is drunk and lonely and still high enough from conversing with Derek that sacrificing his principles doesn’t seem like a bad idea.

Plus, it might win him brownie points with some of the moms at Scott and Allison’s school, and, if that evening had been any indication, would drive Lydia _crazy_.

“Fuck it,” he laughs, grabbing the vodka bottle and reading yet another shot, “Guess I’m joining the Beacon Hills congregation.”

 

In retrospect, Stiles should not have joined the Beacon Hills congregation. Standing in the pews on Sunday morning, the kids awkwardly stuffed into party-clothes, it occurs to Stiles that he has no idea how to behave, a fact that he’s very worried is very apparent. At least the church is fairly empty; other than a few seniors who eye him suspiciously and a couple of families from the barbeque, no one’s here to watch Stiles, wearing an ill-fitting suit that’s seen better days, stick out like a sore thumb.

“Stiles! Hiiii!” a sudden squeal makes Stiles jump, drawing dirty looks from the old croaks at the front. Lydia’s standing beside him all of a sudden, her row of apple-cheeked children lined up beside her looking easy, breezy, and comfortable in their matching spring sets, dress-pants neatly pressed.

 _Von-trapp-ass motherfuckers,_ Stiles thinks begrudgingly.

“Hi, Lydia.” he smiles casually. “How are you?”

“Oh, I’m trucking along,” she laughs, “You know how it is." Stiles, as much as he wants to cut in sarcastically, has nothing to say to that, so he just laughs along.

“But I just did _not_ expect _you_ to be here. And in such formal clothes!” Lydia changes the subject and gets to what Stiles could tell she was aching to bring up since before the conversation started. “I swear, I was beginning to think you only owned scrubs and sweats.” She reaches over to give Stiles a playful punch on the shoulder, and he resists the urge to dodge the gesture or wipe it off.

“Well, you know how it is,” Stiles repeats with a shrug, “I just was so impressed with that family fun night you brought me to, I thought I’d get a little look at the real deal, and why not bring the kids?”

“Right,” Lydia coughs, nodding. She looks from the kids to Stiles to the front of the sanctuary, and for a moment Stiles thinks she’s going to say more, going to call him out on the real reason he’s compromising his family’s entire system of beliefs. But organ music begins to swell, and the congregation sits down and turns their attention to the front of the room, where the choir is beginning to assemble. The solo, while lovely, goes on for what Stiles considers to be far too long, and he begins to lose attention almost immediately after the choir settles and begins to wait, like the rest of the congregation, for the entirety of the opening song to finish. He’s so far-gone by the time the organ music begins to die that he almost misses Derek’s entrance. Derek is dressed differently than he was on Friday, this time wearing a loose white robe and stole with what looks like a quilted creation scene thrown over his shoulders. The robe kicks up as he walks towards the lectern, showing crumpled tan khakis underneath. Stiles smiles, suddenly feeling more than a little breathless.

Okay, so maybe the whole pastor thing’s a little hot in itself.

“Good morning,” Derek leans into the lectern’s mic, the full timbre of his voice bouncing off the sanctuary’s walls.

“Good morning,” the rest of the congregation echoes, Stiles’ own voice a little more enthusiastic than he was intending. The rest of the hour goes predictably; Stiles follows Lydia’s cues on everything, and Scott and Allison behave themselves reasonably well. He’s a little apprehensive about letting them go off to the Sunday school class, but Lydia reassures him that it’s mostly crafts-based and vague about values rather than hardcore Jesus-lessons, and that there are no ruler-wielding matrons. Which means he’s alone, except for Lydia, to enjoy Derek’s voice and the way his arms swing and his eyes light up during the sermon. It’s kind of cute, like watching a fanboy explain comic-con to people (and god knows Stiles has been in that situation before). And it’s over far too soon; before Stiles knows it, the organ music is swelling again and people are slowly filtering towards the door. Stiles starts to go towards the Sunday-school room, attached through a corridor to the rest of the sanctuary, but Lydia stops him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t worry about picking Scott and Allison up. The kids play and join us for juice in the atrium downstairs when they’re finished. Come on, I’ll show you.” reluctantly, Stiles follows Lydia the opposite way, out of the sanctuary and into the church’s foyer. It’s a comfortable space, wide and airy, clearly designed with large crowds in mind—and Stiles almost feels a tug of pity for Derek, seeing just how unfulfilled that dream is. Stiles moves along with the tide of people pushing towards a set of stairs in what Stiles assumes must be the direction of the atrium. Derek stands between the crowds and the stairway, shaking hands as people pass.

“Stiles!” he yelps a little when Stiles grasps his hand, and Stiles’ heart jumps a little. Lydia rolls her eyes.

“Hi, Derek,” she says, reaching for her turn to shake his hand, “Lovely sermon today. And Stiles wanted to come and see what the congregation was all about.”

Derek nods. “He mentioned he’d do that. Well, listen,” he taps Stiles firmly on the shoulder and it’s all Stiles can do not pop a boner, “We’re really pleased to have you here at Beacon Hills. It’s great to see new families. Why don’t you talk to Agnes in the front office, and she can get you nice and registered with our congregation… If you liked what you saw?”

Lydia snickers, and Stiles very nearly lets loose the string of swear words currently sitting on his tongue.

“Sounds great,” he gives a strained smile.

“All right!” Derek exclaims with a fist-pump in the air that nearly causes Stiles’ untimely death, “See you downstairs when that’s all finished, buddy.”

“Yeah.” Stiles echoes hollowly, “Sure thing.” before he can register what’s really happening, Lydia’s hands are on Stiles’ shoulders, guiding him away from Derek and against the crowds, across the foyer and towards the front office.

“Has anyone every told you you’re really not good at thinking schemes through?” she leans over and sneers in Stiles’ ear. He doesn’t bother responding; he’s too humiliated. He focuses instead on registering himself and his family with the hunched, crabby crone in the window of the front office. It feels completely wrong to do, and Stiles is surprised the pen isn’t shaking as he signs the forms and fills in his contact information (“Just for our records,” Agnes snaps)—he certainly _feels_ shaky. But he can’t back down now, not with Lydia breathing down his neck and Derek waiting in the atrium.

When he turns around again, Lydia’s waiting for him with her arms crossed over her chest. “You actually went through with it,” she whistles. “I gotta give you credit, Stiles, I didn’t think you would.”

“Glad you’re enjoying this,” he snaps. “Seriously, Lydia, what’s your deal?”

Lydia just shrugs off the question, which to Stiles wasn’t entirely rhetorical—he gets the whole single-mom, wants-a-good-man thing that Stiles is now apparently in the way of. But Lydia’s taking it _too_ well; in fact, she doesn’t seem jealous or upset at all.

Talk about a major disappointment. The pair walk down to the atrium together, passing a very congratulatory Derek on the way, and Stiles decides to pursue the question in a hissing whisper.

“No, we’re not leaving this, come on, Lydia. On Friday it looked like you were _rabid_ about me talking to Derek. Doesn’t it bother you that some atheist shit-dick—Sorry, I know, I know, no swearing—is in your church, rubbing his grubby little bisexual hands on everything, including your extremely hot pastor?”

Lydia rolls her eyes before swinging the atrium door open. “Watch your mouth,” she warns. “And no, honestly I find it amusing. It’s outrageously offensive and would _never_ have happened if _I_ had been elected church council chair instead of that...” she screws up her face like she’s just eaten a lemon, “Sharon Whittaker.” Smoothing out her expression, she sighs, “I invited you on Friday because I knew you’d put a bee in Sharon’s bonnet, and because it’d look good if I brought people in. But then you spent the whole time talking to Derek, and Sharon didn’t even notice you. Nor did you mention me even once! So the best revenge is to help you dig your own grave. Which, I assure you, is already well over six feet deep.”

“You’re one sick bi—“

“DADDYDADDYDADDYDADDY!” Stiles is interrupted by two little roars and the patter of four clumsy feet. He turns to see Allison and Scott charging towards him, paper cut-outs in hand.

“Whoa! I missed you guys!” he leans down to wrap them in a big group-hug, their papers scratching against his neck. “Wanna show daddy what you made in class today?”

“Paper hearts!” the kids whip out their crafts in unison. Stiles can see that the kids cut them themselves, pasting and drawing on pictures and words symbolizing beloved things. A snag catches in Stiles’ throat when he notices his own name in the centre of each, along with things characteristic of each of his own kids; batman, bubble baths, dragons, the piano teacher.

“We learned about love today,” Scott explains proudly.

“Mhm, looks like you two learned a lot," Stiles nods, ruffling each of their hair in turn. Lydia goes off to talk to a circle of moms by the tea-station, and Stiles’ family is an island in a sea of strangers. They stay for another ten minutes, the kids prattling on, some parishioners coming up to introduce themselves with over-saccharine smiles that Stiles doesn’t feel like indulging, before Stiles decides to give up; Derek’s nowhere to be seen, and really, what else did Stiles expect? The guy ran an entire _church_ , for Pete’s sakes. Why would Stiles have thought that someone as busy as Derek would have time to stop and pay attention to him? It’s an uncomfortable reminder to Stiles that this isn’t a romantic venture to anyone but himself—to Derek and everyone else around, he’s just any other new parishioner, doing normal parishioner things. Things which _don’t_ include their leader.

He leaves the church in a huff, feeling foolish, embarrassed, and upset. For a while he’s not sure who he’s upset with; himself for not knowing better? Lydia, for pushing him into it? Derek, for not actually doing anything at all? He lets the anxiety bounce in his chest as he drives home, ruminating, turning to anger and then to pain and then back to humiliation.

It’s when he gets home and catches sight of the family picture hung up in the front foyer, the one from five years ago with his family all together, that everything freezes and turns to heavy sadness.

“Daddy, are you okay?” one of the twins, he thinks Allison but can’t really tell, not when he’s this sad this suddenly, sounds behind Stiles. He knows he should answer her, but the cloud of regret, dread, and embarrassment currently spreading through him obscures words, makes everything freeze and fuzz over. He settles for a vague nod, mumbling at her to watch TV and be good, not turning look before going up to his bedroom. His phone dings from his pocket, and he digs it out to reveal a text from Lydia.

_U ok? U left in a hurry… Dnt worry abt Derek. It’s hard to catch his attn._

Sighing, Stiles throws his phone onto the bed beside him and collapses in turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> once again, roadsider is the best.


	3. The Things We Want to Say

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles, ready to call it quits on Project Derek, receives some unexpected encouragement & understanding from Lydia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from "Careless Whisper" because I've had it stuck in my head all day. 
> 
> We're at last starting to scratch Stiles' angst-surface, y'all

Stiles is in the grocery store after work a few days later, trying to decide between brands of go-gurt, when a sudden bang to the side of his cart practically makes his life flash before his eyes.

 “Stiles.” when Stiles looks up, Lydia’s staring at him from behind her own jam-packed cart, eyes cool and piercing.

 “Lydia,” he gulps, “So nice to—“

 “You’ve been avoiding me.” but Lydia, of course, isn’t hearing it. And Stilescan’t deny it—he absolutely has been avoiding Lydia ever since Sunday, even going so far as to have the kids skip their gymnastics so that he wouldn’t have to see Lydia threatening to speak to the community centre manager across the hall in Junior Creative Ballet.

 “This is about Sunday, isn’t it?” Lydia crosses her arms and leans over her cart, and Stiles can tell that neither of them are going anywhere until he explains himself. “I _knew_ something was wrong!”

 “Look,” Stiles sighs, “It was a dumb idea, okay?” he drapes himself over his shopping cart, imitating Lydia’s stance. “I’m not a Christian and I never want to be, and wooing Derek by pretending to drink the communion wine is just… Not practical. All I’m gonna be to him is another member of his congregation, there’s nothing special or sexy about Sunday mornings. And anyway, it’s probably not a good idea, I don’t think I’m—“

 “Oh, I get it,” Lydia smiles suddenly, her expression tender and voice softening. “You don’t want to disappoint her.”

Stiles doesn’t answer, just jerks his cart away and starts walking down the aisle. He doesn’t really want to leave Lydia, though, so he lets himself drag, and Lydia follows behind him, going at a pace that really doesn’t need to be as brisk and business-like as it is, but hey, habits are hard to break.

 “It’s been five years, Stiles,” Lydia calls as Stiles pretends to be fascinated with the store’s wall of cottage cheese. “Don’t you think that’s long enough?”

 “You wouldn’t understand,” Stiles growls back, sour. It’s a comment that earns him a cart rammed hard into his ass.

 “I’m a single parent too. And maybe I’m not a widow, but I understand being alone and I understand problems with moving on. You’re not the only one who feels pain, Stiles.”

Stiles ignores her and pushes into the check-out line. An old man with a cart full of nothing but lettuce and vaseline cuts in front of Lydia, thankfully separating her from Stiles.

His phone dings, and he knows it’s Lydia before he even answers.

_Let’s at least talk abt this._

He doesn’t respond, and thirty seconds later, following an overheard hiss of _you’re a disappointment to this neighbourhood, Larry_ and the sound of clattering carts, Lydia rolls up beside Stiles and states, half plain and half sympathetic, “I’ll buy dinner.”

           

Fifteen minutes later, Stiles is sitting with Lydia in a bistro waiting for his club sandwich while Lydia eyes him from behind an iced tea. The place is near empty, and it’s quiet except for soft 70s music and the clink of ice against Lydia’s glass as she stirs her straw around.

 “So. Feelings. Let’s talk about them.” she leads, and Stiles chuckles despite himself.

 “I don’t know, Lydia, it just seems like… Every relationship I’ve had since Heather died has been superficial and really just a way to take up time and _look_ like I’m progressing. Ultimately I didn’t really feel that much for them and they didn’t last long because they never got much above meet me for coffee here, have sex with me there, spend a night or two with the kids while I’m on-call. Usually that’s the dealbreaker,” Stiles smiles wryly, and Lydia laughs.

 “I know what you mean. When Jackson and I divorced, after a little time of being on my own I tried to get back into dating, and honestly I wouldn’t have missed those guys. I kind of miss it, actually, though it really pains me to admit it.” Stiles nods. Like most things in the neighbourhood, Jackson and Lydia’s split hadn’t exactly been a private matter. Lydia had always been a one-woman community army, but it became plainly evident that her being out-and-about might have motivations other than just being a busybody when some moms started gossiping about the bruises they’d noticed during a PTA meeting. And that’s how things had blown up—a concerned visit from some of Lydia’s ‘friends’ made everything worse, and Lydia disappeared off the face of the earth for a while before returning with divorce papers and a vengeance. The custody battle was talked about for weeks even after Jackson had finally slunk out of Beacon Hills for good; apparently, people preying on the misunderstood symptoms of C-PTSD made for good playground-gossip. It was the kind of spectacle that made Stiles hate where he lived, but he couldn’t imagine how Lydia felt about it. But of course, Stiles never would have known; Lydia was a master of Head-Bitch-In-Charge game-faces, even when her story started costing her lead positions on parent committees, which she usually swiftly regained with a neat combination of sabotage and perfectionism. It was what had made Stiles and Lydia develop a sort of quiet, distanced understanding between them; Stiles coped with the death of his suburban wife by receding from the neighbourhood culture, and Lydia was an outsider right in the centre of it.

 “But you feel like Derek’s different?” Lydia’s question jerks Stiles right back to reality, reminding him what the conversation is actually about. For better or worse, Lydia is coping—now it’s Stiles’ turn to lay his issues bare. He sighs, staring straight ahead into space.

 “I mean, I don’t _know_ that Derek’s different, but like. When I met Heather, there was a bit of an instant click, at least for me. Whether or not Derek’s a clicker like Heather, it’s new for me because there’s _passion_ there. I actually want to date him; I don’t feel like I’m trying to do it because I need to.” he stops to think, and the waitress comes by with their meals. They wait for her to leave before Lydia leans back on the table, picking up a chicken finger and waving it in Stiles’ face.

 “If that’s the way you feel, then what’s stopping you from pursuing it?”

Stiles laughs harshly. “Fear of rejection, fear of event-repetition, and fear of moving on. What else do you think, Dr. Martin?”

 “Fair enough,” Lydia shrugs, “But you do realize that rejection is something that is a risk in any relationship, it’s highly unlikely that you’ll even get to the point with Derek where a car crash will—“

 “Tread lightly,” Stiles grits his teeth, and Lydia puts her hands up in apology. Taking a bite of his sandwich, he diffuses the tension by joking, “And what do you mean, you doubt we’ll get to that point?”

Lydia snorts. “Please, Stiles, he’s _so_ out of your league.”

 “Has anyone ever told you you’re shit at comforting people?”

 “I’m a debt collector,” Lydia rolls her eyes with a wry smile, “That’s decidedly _not_ part of my job.

 “Anyway, Stiles, I’m just joshing, but seriously. It’s been a lot of time. And I know how hard moving on can be, trust me, I do. But it has to be done some time. Recovery is scary and uncertain, but you’ll never be able to _make_ it certain unless you try to work towards it. And I’m not saying make Derek a recovery goal—I’m saying that clearly, he’s a lot more than that to you, and that’s special. You have nothing to be afraid of while pursuing him, and you have nothing to feel guilty for, either. Heather’s gone, for better or for worse. You’re not betraying her because you’re following someone who _is_ here.”

 “So you’re saying I should continue to impersonate a religious fanatic and seduce a pastor under false pretenses, on the off-chance that he takes my parish participation as an advance?” Stiles rips off another bite of his sandwich, fuming as he chews. He doesn’t want to admit it, but Lydia’s right, and her words are even helping a little.

 “I’m… Okay, in a way, yes I am,” Lydia shrugs, “But what I’m actually suggesting is that you make yourself visible in his life. Join some church councils. Show Derek you care and just… Ingrain yourself. He’s a bit of a mystery, anyway; I never see him around except at church. I’m thinking he’s not from this neighbourhood.”

Stiles makes a little whine and Lydia laughs. “So are you in?”

 “You seem to care an awful lot about this,” Stiles feels a smile spread across his face despite himself. Lydia shrugs.

“Like I said, this whole scheme’s got its perks. Anyway,” she adds, a twinkle in her eye, “You’re not such a bad guy to look after, Stiles.” It’s sweet, and Stiles feels a sudden, unexpected rush of affection for Lydia.

He’ll have to remember to keep that in check.

Still, he nods along with Lydia’s idea and smiles back to her. “Okay, yeah,” he says, looking more determined than he feels, “I’m in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> obligatory thank to roadsider!


	4. The Ol' College Try, Take 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles decides to try going to a service again, and this time, he's prepared. At least, until a few bumps in the road present themselves, some of which are totally his fault, some of which he was hoping he'd never run into. But sometimes, bumps can be a gift--if Stiles can make it that far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for ableism in this chapter. No slurs are written but it's implied they're said and directed at a child.

By the time next Sunday rolls around, Stiles is prepared. Over the week, he had taken the kids to the Marshall’s at the edge of town and picked out new clothes for the entire family, complete with matching blue sweater-sets that would have made the Brady Bunch green with jealousy. Probably, at least.

Stiles doesn’t think too much about the Brady Bunch, on principle.

When they arrive at the church, the parking-lot is, as usual, fairly empty—good enough for Stiles, who parks in a corner next to a red Civic and rushes the kids inside. They’re about five minutes early, enough to get a good seat a little closer to the front of the sanctuary, but far enough not to have to make small-talk with the rest of the parish. He’s a mess of nerves until the service starts and Derek is once again at the lectern in front of the whole parish; seeing him up there, Stiles can’t help but feel comforted, and a small smile spreads onto his face. He catches Derek’s eye, and his breath hitches, the nerves coming back; Derek smiles warmly, his expression satisfied, and Stiles almost lets himself believe that it’s because Derek was hoping he’d be here.

And maybe he was; just probably not for the reason Stiles wants more desperately with each passing minute in the church. But he doesn’t have time to think about that; really, he can’t think about _anything_ right now, except Derek and how chipper he looks, how his smile fades when he prays and then perks up, just slightly, when he looks in Stiles’ direction. The intense focus in his eyes when he’s addressing the congregation, and how Stiles wants it wholly on him.

His euphoria sours when he looks down at himself, suddenly very aware that his dick is, well, _keeping up_ with his mind, to say the least. He panics, looking around to gage if anyone’s noticed and praying that from Derek’s view, Stiles’ crotch is covered by the back of a pew or something, anything. Thankfully, Derek seems too busy finishing up his sermon—something about forty tongues and what community means—to notice. After what seems like far too long, the post-sermon music begins to swell, a rousing chorus with a lot of jumpy high notes that the soloist just can’t quite get. It’s enough to kill Stiles’ emerging problem, or at least put it back at half-mast. He doesn’t have time to rest, though—Derek had disappeared during the choir solo, only to reappear with hands full of bread and juice.

 _Fuck_ , Stiles thinks. Persephone comes to mind, and he swallows hard. Then the thought of Derek feeding him pops into his head, and he grabs a bible out of the pew-backs to cover his lap, pretending to be reading intently. Of course, being near the front of the church, he doesn’t get to do this for long, and is instead nudged out of the pews and forwards towards Derek and the volunteer communion-servers. And, because Stiles’ life is nothing more than a parody of itself at this point, he winds up coming face to face with Derek, the shit smirking straight at him, staring straight into his eyes.

“The body of Christ,” Derek says, his voice low and solemn and tinged with a rough, warm tone.

“Amen,” Stiles squeaks in response. He holds out his hand to take the communion and swears to God Derek lingers on purpose, letting his fingers brush along the length of Stiles’ palm for just a little too long for that kind of contact to be accidental. He moves to pop the wafer in his mouth and Derek’s eyes widen. He cocks his head, signaling for Stiles to move to the side and dip his wafer in a waiting cup of juice before eating the eucharist.

“Oh, um, I’m, uh…” but Stiles’ bumbling apology is cut off abruptly by a chuckle from Derek, who smiles, showing two chicklet bunny-teeth.

“Just go,” he whispers, and Stiles is too embarrassed to do anything but oblige.

“Nice going, tiger,” Lydia smirks as Stiles passes her pew on the way back to his own seat. He sticks out his tongue and Lydia rolls her eyes.

 

After the service Stiles stays a little longer this time, trying his best to mingle while keeping his eye on Scott and Allison. His kids have become quite chummy with a few of the other kids from the Sunday school, and he gets so caught up in watching his kids play tag, scanning for whether Allison’s playing nice and Scott’s playing mean enough, that he doesn’t notice Derek sneak up behind him until the pastor lays a firm hand on his shoulder, causing him to jump.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” Derek says with a smile that tells Stiles that that’s exactly what the shithead was aiming to do, “Just wanted to check in and ask how you’re doing? I’m glad to see you and your kids back.”

“Oh,” Stiles glances back at the rugrats, who are still enrapt in their game of tag. Scott’s ‘it,’ and Stiles feels a bit nervous for him—he knows enough about kids to know that those who are easy targets get made ‘it’ and usually stay that way until the game’s over. But as much as Stiles wants to, it's not like he can intervene. Turning back to Derek, he shrugs and smiles, “They like it here. They’re making a lot of friends very fast.”

Derek raises his eyebrows and nods. “Good,” he crosses his arms over his chest, surveying the game of tag with a lost, thinking look on his face, “We don’t have too many kids left here, so it’s always nice to get some fresh energy in. New families are good news!”

Stiles gives an uneasy laugh, trying to hide the flash of frustration he feels. He wants to be more than just ‘fresh energy,’ but how do you say that? Especially since he hardly knows the guy.

“But anyway, sorry, how are you?” Derek shakes himself and focuses back on Stiles, his eyes warm and smile wide.

“I’m good, thanks,” Stiles nods, “Eager to get in here and just….” remembering Lydia’s words, he curses God out as he repeats them, “ _Ingrain_ myself.” it’s a tactic that works; Derek perks up, an odd look passing over his face for barely a moment before his golden smile returns.

“Ingrain yourself. Hm. You mean like through councils and volunteering? We may be a small congregation but we’re pretty active and would love to have you in a number of things.”

“Great,” Stiles ignores the ‘we’, reminding himself that these things take time to become an ‘I’. “So… What kind of things would you recommend?”

It’s just a split second, even less present than last time, but Stiles swears he sees that odd, unreadable look flash in Derek’s eyes again before a twitching mouth turns into a tight smile.

“You know what, why don’t you come up to my office after coffee time? We can talk about it together with Scott and Allison too and see what fit—“

A sudden wail from behind them interrupts their conversation, their attention snapping back to the game of tag as more screams follow with the consistent sound of crying. Stiles’ heart stops dead in his tracks, and he runs over to the source of the commotion—Allison on top of a boy, hands flying at his face, her knee digging into his stomach and pinning him under herself.

“Allison! Allison! Calm down!” Stiles ignores the crying, a familiar sob he knows to be Scott’s, while he forces himself through the crowd of kids and rapidly-appearing parents, some of whom are grabbing their own kids, some of whom are just skulking around the scene of the crime, watching the drama. Stiles feels a flash of hatred for them as he reaches Allison and wraps his arms around her stomach, heaving all squirming, screaming fifty pounds of her off the boy, who looks to be about eight or nine. He whispers down an apology when he notices the boy’s bloody nose, but can’t bring himself to really mean it—he can already guess what happened before he puts down Allison and, squatting down to look straight into her still-furious eyes, asks, “What happened?”

“He called Scott a r—He called him a…”

Scott, whose crying had significantly quieted to sporadic hiccups amid short, shallow breaths, resumed louder than before. Stiles turned to comfort him, not letting go of Allison, but was stopped by the sight of Derek on the floor at level with Scott, the kid crumpled in his arms.

“Shh, shh… It’s okay. You’re not that, okay? And that was a mean word to call you, but I promise you, you’re so special and so loved and so much better than any bad word anyone throws at you. Yeah?”

Stiles walks over and puts his spare hand on Derek’s shoulder, flashing him a grateful smile before crouching down next to him pulling Allison and Scott in for a group hug. Running a hand through each of their hair, he turns to Scott and whispers, “Hey. Hey, cookie-monster?”

It’s an old nickname, one from preschool when Scott went through a phase where he’d only wear blue, but it works every time. Scott giggles despite himself. “Mhm?” he answers, and Stiles’ heart nearly shatters. He can’t say he blames Allison for creaming that kid, though he knows he can’t let her get away with that either.

“I love you, okay? And you’re so great. I’m so proud of you, baby.” the moment’s sweet, but Stiles can’t savour it. Turning to Allison, he pulls her away so he can make eye contact and scolds, “Allison, think before you act! It’s okay to look after your brother, and I’m so glad you wanted to have his back, but you can’t do that by beating people up, okay? When that happens, you get blamed and no one listens, and then we're _all_ in a worse off place. And hurting the people who hurt you or Scott doesn’t make your hurt go away.”

Allison nods, sniffling, and burrows her face into Stiles’ shirt. He’s prepared to leave it at that when a cough from behind turns his attention to a tall blonde woman staring him and his family down, arms crossed over her chest.

“Did you see what your daughter did to my son?” she demands sharply, “One minute he’s playing, the next she’s on top of him, now his nose might be broken.”

“I’m so sorry,” Stiles, against his better judgment, lets go of his kids to stand up and face the woman, “I assure you, Allison’s learned her lesson. It’s not an excuse, but she gets very protective of her broth—“

The woman cuts Stiles off with a shrill, harsh laugh. “Oh, protective! She’s protective. Sir, I will show you protective in about five seconds if you don't--”

“That’s enough, Erica.” Derek comes up next to Stiles and lays a hand on his shoulder in support, though Stiles isn’t riled up quite enough to let the moment go completely unnoticed. “Isaac behaved very badly. He used language that’s profoundly hateful and unchristian, which I will not tolerate in my parish.”

“So you’re defending someone who _broke_ my child’s _nose_?” Erica balks. Stiles looks around himself nervously; except for Erica’s shouting, the atrium has gone silent, the rest of the congregation forming a small crowd to watch the action. He swallows hard and sucks in a breath; it could be bad news not just for him and his kids, but especially for Derek.

Derek, though, doesn’t seem to notice, only crosses his arms and keeps eye contact with Erica as he rebuts, “No, I’m absolutely not defending Allison. And I will address that situation with Stiles and Allison separately. Right now, though, the fact I'm dealing with is that violent language is just as important to deal with as violent behaviour. Isaac picked up that word and how to use it from somewhere, and I think you and Boyd should have a conversation with him before he makes a habit out of it.”

Erica stands still for a moment, looking incredulously from Stiles to Derek and back again, before her face changes from shock to disgust to cold fury.

“Fine,” she says, scooping Isaac up. From somewhere in the crowd, a man Stiles gathers to be her partner materializes and joins her as she spits, “But from now on, my family and I will be going to Cedar United. Enjoy the congregation while you can, Stiles.” with that, Erica and her whole family are gone, and coffee time begins to dissipate.

“You okay?” Stiles turns to Derek, who looks pale. He only grunts in response, not looking at Stiles.

“Right…” Stiles coughs, suddenly feeling uncomfortable and guilty. “I guess we should probably be going then. Um, thanks… For all your help.”

Derek’s eyes snap back to attention, coming to look directly at Stiles as the rest of his face seems to wake up again. “No problem,” he says. “Seriously, I get it. And Scott’s such a nice kid. So’s Allison, in her own way. Just a bit of a firecracker. So’s Erica, but she’ll be okay. She’s just… Protective. But I’m sure you know what that looks like,” he adds with a chiding smirk. Stiles laughs and nods.

“Excuse me,” Scott wanders up between the two of them suddenly, Allison latched onto his hand, “But I don’t want to be here.”

“Can we leave, daddy?” Allison rephrases, and both Stiles and Derek laugh a little harder.

“I think I’m going to get going myself, too,” Derek announces when their laughter dies down. “Come on, I’ll walk you guys out.”

 

When they get out to the parking lot together, the red Civic is still parked next to Stiles’ car. In a lot full of fleeing vehicles, it’s an unremarkable sight until Stiles notices the woman leaned up against the side of it, distracted by her phone until she perks up at the group’s approach.

“Finally!” she exclaims exasperatedly, and Stiles is confused for a moment before he realizes she’s looking directly at Derek. “I swear to God, every fucking Sunday gets longer and longer, Der. It’s obnoxious.”

“There was a bit of a situation,” Derek concedes, shrugging. “You know, you can always join us at any time if you’re getting bored of the parking lot. I don’t know why you’re so insistent on waiting in the car every week.”

“Um, try because the suburbs give me hives and I’m pretty sure I’d rather die of dysentery than spend an hour and a half chatting with Angela from Quilting Group about all the exciting ways that Jesus saves!” The woman makes a loud gagging noise, and Stiles snorts without meaning to.

“Oh, who’s this?” she looks Stiles up and down, her eyes and voice suddenly warm. Derek sighs.

“Laura, this is Stiles, and these are his kids Scott and Allison.” the kids wave as Derek continues, “Stiles and his family have just joined the congregation here.”

“Ahhh,” Laura nods, “My condolences.” Stiles laughs, and Laura, encouraged, extends a hand. “I’m Laura, Derek’s sister and all but babysitter. Pleased to meet you, Stiles.”

Derek rolls his eyes as Stiles shakes Laura’s hand. “I’ve offered to walk, Laura, it’s you who insists on giving me rides everywhere.”

“You live on the opposite end of town, Derek, I’m _not_ letting you walk home.” smiling to Stiles, Laura coos, “You’ve got a beautiful family, Stiles, and it’s so nice to see you two getting along.” Stiles blushes. “So what about your wife, are you married or seeing anyone?”

 Stiles feels his blush go from slight to a full-blown beet-red, especially when he catches Derek’s eye. “Oh, I’m, um… No, I…”

“Mommy died when we were babies!” Allison pipes up theatrically, “Daddy doesn’t like talking about it though, so _shhh_ , lady!”

Stiles chuckles nervously, waving Allison to _shhh_ herself. He scans Derek’s face for signs of pity, compassion, or reproach; surprisingly, though, Derek’s face remains unchanged.

“I’m sorry to hear about that,” he nods slowly, seriously, his voice smooth and even and without any hint of the clunky condolences Stiles has become used to hearing, “I’m sure she was a wonderful woman.”

“It’s been some time.” Stiles shrugs. He’s prepared to leave it at that, and it looks like Derek is, too, but one look at Laura tells Stiles she has other plans.

“So… it must be hard raising these two rascals on your own,” she begins, and Stiles can see the wheels turning in her head before she crosses her arms and grins, “You know, Derek’s _great_ with kids.”

“Yeah, I saw,” Stiles smiles gratefully to Derek who looks away shyly, “Like he said, there was… A bit of a situation today, and he really helped defuse it. Can’t thank you enough, uh, Reverend.”

“Oh, call him Derek.” Laura rolls her eyes playfully. “Anyway, you know what? You’re just in luck because Derek and I don’t have any plans for the afternoon! Maybe now’d be a good time to do some errands, take a load off… Looking after new families is totally a pastoral care duty, after all, isn’t that right, Derek?”

Stiles looks eagerly over to Derek, who looks like he’d like to kill Laura for the mere suggestion that he and Stiles spend time together.

“Look, that’s nice, but—“

“Sure,” Derek suddenly interrupts Stiles’ burgeoning excuse, taking Stiles for surprise. “I’d absolutely love to help you in any way I can, if you’ll let me.”

“Please,” Laura interjects, grinning.

“Okay,” Stiles shrugs and turns to his kids, “Come on, rugrats, get into the car and we’ll take Derek and Laura home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Roadsider is a true MVP.
> 
> For those of you who might be questioning the decision to write Erica as I did: wait. I really believe Erica's a character who patience pays off with, and her storyline'll reflect that, I guarantee it.
> 
> Also, I'm not trying to peg Isaac as a 'bad' character. In this story, Isaac is a child. Children do not necessarily have to be bad people to cause harm. Children say and do things that hurt other kids often because they don't know any better. That's more what I'm trying to capture & say than "Isaac insulted Scott so Isaac is bad".


	5. A House Where Love Can Dwell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek and Stiles bond at Stiles' house while Laura takes care of the kids.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from "All Are Welcome," one of my favourite hymns.

Laura, as it turns out, is tricky as hell. After a car ride of bonding with Allison and Scott, she spent exactly five minutes in Stiles’ home before asking the kids if they wanted ice cream. Undaunted by Allison’s long list of allergies, Laura claimed to know a vegan place with _the_ best nut- and gluten-free gelato in the city and was off with the twins in tow before Stiles could even say “six-year-olds probably won’t like kale sorbet”.

“You should definitely not trust that woman with your children, just saying.” Derek chuckles. Stiles shrugs. They’re sitting on Stiles’ couch in the living room, glasses of water on the coffee table. Stiles was going to offer Derek a beer, but wasn’t sure what the rules around alcohol on Sundays were, and so had decided to play it safe. Probably a good choice; Derek seemed to be almost hanging onto his glass of water as a crutch, taking a sip every time Stiles so much as exhaled.

 “Thank you so much for helping Scott,” Stiles blurts out after the nervous silence between them becomes unbearably awkward. “I’m really sorry about that, by the way. I hate to, um… I hate to think we’ve caused you trouble.”

Derek puts down his glass suddenly, staring straight at Stiles in that weird, piercing way that Stiles had seen during the communion. “What trouble did you cause?” he asks.

 “Well, Erica and her family…” Stiles squirms. To his surprise, though, Derek begins to laugh, first a harsh hiss of air hardly escaping and then escalating into a full-blown howl.

 “Oh my goodness,” Derek wipes his eyes, picking his glass up off the coffee table and taking a swig, “Don’t you worry a thing about that, Stiles. Erica may have a strong bark, but I swear it’s all bravado. Erica’s been threatening to leave Beacon Hills ever since she _joined_.  I swear she must say it at least once a month, if not more. And it’s always a grand production. She’ll be back next week, guaranteed. And even then, really, the family’s bad at first impressions but they’re very sweet when you get to know them. Isaac just tends to speak before he thinks of the consequences, and Erica’s a very proud person. But she _does_ deal with issues, and she has more of a conscience than she lets on to. And she doesn’t feel terrible and mortified right now, or her son ever uses that word again, well, I’ll be damned, quite honestly. And obviouslythat’s not something I take lightly.”

Derek puts down his glass, now empty, and Stiles moves to grab it, but Derek puts a stopping hand on his shoulder.

 “No worries,” he shakes his head, and Stiles has to stop from letting out a whimper.

“So,” Derek relaxes back against the couch, and Stiles, on instinct, moves to mimic his posture, “Can I ask you what brought you and your twins to Beacon Hills?”

Stiles chokes on his water.

“Oh, oh gosh…” Derek panics, grabbing Stiles by the shoulders while he continues to cough. “Are you okay?”

Stiles smiles weakly, shaking his head. “I’m fine,” he croaks, wiping his mouth, “You just caught me off-guard.”

“What do you mean?” Derek frowns, confused.

 _God fucking dammit._ Stiles should’ve let the water choke him; he’d probably be better off.

“I just… Ah…. I mean, it’s such a silly question! When do you need a reason to follow Jesus, am I right?” the words fall out of Stiles’ mouth before he can even think about stopping them.

Forget the water; that wouldn’t have killed him near fast enough.

“You sound like an evangelical manual!” Derek, though, roars with laughter. It’s encouraging, and Stiles perks up to fire out a comeback.

“Hey, hey, at least _I_ don’t get all kumbaya with the Lord every Thursday, hypocrite. That’s right, don’t think I haven’t been invited to your little Worship Song Circle.”

“Well, I would’ve thought that’d be right up your alley,” Derek deadpans, “Considering you never need a reason to follow Jesus.” he doesn’t even finish the sentence without breaking his act; both of them are laughing way too hard.

“Seriously though…” Stiles begins again once they calm down a little, both of them still chuckling a little, “Your church has a _lot_ of stuff going on, and all really varied. It’s great, even just as a community resource without the religion added in.” He wants to ask Derek why it is, in light of that, that the congregation is so small, but refrains; if Derek wants to share the answer, he’ll tell him.

“It’s a small family, but it’s a tight one with a lot to offer.” Derek says proudly, and Stiles can’t help but wonder how often Derek has to practice smiling when he says that, who he’s trying to reassure.

“So, what church were you and your family at before coming to Beacon Hills? Did you just move into the area?” Derek asks.

“Nah,” Stiles shakes his head, “We’ve been here for a while. Not… Hugely religious, but Lydia invited us to that first family fun night and we just loved it so much that… Well,” he gestures around himself, “Here we are.”

Derek nods. “Good timing, too,” he says, scratching his beard absent-mindedly. “We could always use more people like you.” He lays a hand on Stiles’ shoulder again, his eyes warm and staring directly at Stiles, who suddenly finds it very hard to breathe. He wants to say something, ask what Derek means, but he’s scared to disrupt the moment. But he hardly even has time to worry about preserving the feeling of Derek’s touch before it’s gone; Derek’s eyes jump from Stiles’ to his own hand, and he tenses, seeming to remember himself before gingerly withdrawing.

“I’m… Oh, jeez Louise, I’m so sorry…” he looks down at himself, shame and embarrassment practically coming off his body in waves. Stiles wants to comfort him, wants to grab his face and kiss him and tell him it’s okay.

“No problemo,” he settles for a hand on Derek’s shoulder and a soft, glowing smile, “I don’t mind at all.”

 

They spend the rest of the afternoon talking, taking turns as they tell each other about their lives, more in detail than the last time they met. Stiles talks about how he became an orthodontist; Derek listens intently, his face completely serious in a hugely endearing way. They talk about schools and single parenthood, about hockey and comparing kinder-gym programs. In fact, they focus almost entirely on Stiles’ life; it’s a welcome break for Stiles, who’s normally used to thinking about everyone else. It made him feel interesting, well-liked without having to work for it. And it’s nice to open up, especially to someone as good a listener as Derek; the other man hardly has to say a word and before Stiles knows it, he’s told his whole life story. The only parts he really skirts around are the ones that involve Heather; despite the unusual kinship he feels with Derek, Stiles is still vaguely aware that they’ve only just met, and that talking about your dead wife— _ex_ -wife—is probably not a great flirting strategy. And it’s certainly the less painful route; he doesn’t want to get bogged down in the past, and he doesn’t want Derek to see him as struggling or grieving. Not yet, at least.

Not at least until Stiles can be sure that Derek will see him as an equal to support rather than a lamb to guide.

At some point, the kids come charging back into the house with Laura in tow. She looks partly fazed and completely exhausted, causing Derek to laugh hysterically when he catches a look at her walking through the door.

“Your kids. _Fuck._ ” is all she says before pushing past Stiles and Derek and making a beeline directly for Stiles’ kitchen, where he can hear her raiding the fridge of his last couple beers.

“Guys, you didn’t give Laura any trouble, did you?” he leans over to ask Scott and Allison, who don’t look nearly as tuckered out. Each have ice cream dribbled down their clothes, staining the perfectly good new Sunday clothes they were both still wearing.

“We beat her at hide-and-seek in the park!” Scott, apparently pleased as punch with himself and his current state, exclaims proudly. “She was so bad at it she had to ask the policeman for help!”

“I think we should get going,” Derek looks at Stiles, thankfully only amusement twinkling in his eyes and no judgment. He leans over and wraps Stiles in an unexpected hug, and Stiles, much as he enjoys it, must have seemed somehow distressed by the move because Derek stiffens almost immediately and backs away, his eyes closed and brow furrowed in reproach.

“Um… Thanks for having us over,” he grits his teeth, looking down at the floor, and Stiles can practically _hear_ the swear words he’s sure Derek’s thinking to himself. “Sorry about the trouble.”

“Dude, no worries,” Stiles puts his hands up in mock surrender, “This was seriously awesome and I’d love to do it again some time. Also, for the record,” he adds, looking Derek up and down in what he hopes is a move that straddles the line between flirty and friendly, “I’m a _hugely_ huggy guy. Love doing hugs. Like, seriously, just tell me it’s happening and I’m there. Just… Yeah. So into it.”

Laura snorts audibly from the kitchen, and Stiles makes a mental note to start locking his fridge.

“Laura, come on. Take me home,” Derek calls out to his sister, who emerges from the kitchen with a smug grin on her face, beer in her hand.

“Thanks for having us,” she tips the bottle towards Stiles before taking another swig.

“No problem,” Stiles smiles, walking over to the front door. He turns the lock and swings the door open, intending to step aside and let Derek and Laura out, but instead coming face to face with a man in his 60s standing on his porch.

“Dad!” Stiles squeaks, his voice going weak, “What a pleasant surprise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to take a minute to say y'all are amazing, tbh. It's been such an amazing, positive response to this fic so far, and all of your feedback and enthusiasm is just so great and helpful. I'm seriously appreciative <3


	6. Everybody Talks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles finally admits what's going on to his dad, and in the aftermath, a surprise call from Derek provides comfort and reassurance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from song of the same name by the Neon Trees

“What are you doing here?”

“Just thought I’d drop by,” the retired sheriff shrugs. Looking beyond Stiles, he frowns. “Who’re your friends?” Stiles follows his father’s gaze back to glance nervously at Laura and Derek, who are still standing in his foyer, Laura looking like she might just pee herself with excitement. Derek slides in front of her, pasting on the same welcoming smile that Stiles has become so intimately familiar with at church these past two weeks. Stiles swallows hard; somehow, he doesn’t think it’s going to be quite as charming to his dad as it is to him.

“Hi, Mr. Stilinski, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Derek,” he grabs Stiles’ dad’s hand in a firm shake. Stiles frowns.

“How did you know my last name?” he whispers harshly in Derek’s ear. Derek shoots him a weird look, not breaking the handshake he’s still locked in.

“The church directory,” he says, “What did you think Agnes was taking that information for?”

“Creepy as hell, dude,” Stiles hisses, but he can hardly suppress the excited butterflies in his chest at the thought that Derek went looking for his information. He let himself imagine Derek going over the information multiple times, until he had it memorized. Derek, for his part, just shrugs.

“Nah, I’m with him,” Stiles’ dad pipes up suddenly, and Stiles’ butterflies turn to stones. “That’s pretty creepy. But anyway, I’m just playing.” He waves his hand in a way that Stiles knows means he is most certainly _not_ just playing, “So, church, huh? I’m shocked, kiddo.” The sheriff’s voice is dripping with distaste, and Stiles swallows hard as his father turns to Derek and continues, “So what’re you, the Grand Daddy Bigwig or whatever they’re calling them these days?”

Derek laughs. “Close, sir. I’m the reverend in charge of the congregation at Beacon Hills United, just over on Wolfsbane and Mullholland.”

“Huh.” Stiles’ dad nods, looking Derek up and down. Stiles wants to throw himself off the roof of the house. He clears his throat, hoping to remind his father to be polite, but it seems that only Laura picks up on the hint.

“ _Aaanyway_ ,” she slides to Derek’s side, laying a warning hand on his shoulder, “I think we should get going. Thanks for having us, Stiles. Let us know if you need anything else!”

“Will do,” Stiles nods. He reaches over and pats Derek on the back, a gesture which makes Derek tense. Stiles blushes.

“Bye,” Derek mutters behind him. And that’s that; Stiles watches Derek and Laura walk away, watches them drive off the street and out of view, trying to keep his spirits up as they go. Which is a hard task, when you have your dad breathing down your neck. And boy, is his breath angry.

“March your butt into the kitchen. I’m gonna go say hi to my grandkids, then we’re gonna sit down and talk this out until I figure out exactly what in blazes is going on.” Stiles’ dad pushes past him, and Stiles can tell he knows _exactly_ what’s going on. Which is real fucking neat, considering Stiles can hardly figure that out for himself. But in all his planning and scheming, he’d forgotten the variable of explaining his sudden conversion to his father.

 _Crap_. His conversion. Stiles groans to himself as he sits down at his kitchen table, twiddling his thumbs and waiting for the sounds of playing to die down. It’s one thing to date or befriend a religious person, Stiles realizes, but it’s a whole other thing to tell your father you’re converting to their religion expressly because of them. And Stiles’ dad isn’t exactly easily persuaded; while not necessarily close-minded, Stiles’ father had always been very stubborn and, while certainly caving eventually, was overall hesitant to adapt to anything new. It’s an attitude Stiles has had to fight to keep from adopting himself, but he’s never had to stand up to it this way; his father usually loved whoever he dated, and if he didn’t, it hadn’t been that hard to get rid of them shortly thereafter.

“So… Are you going to explain why you're making googly eyes at a reverend, or will I have to interrogate it out of you?” his father marches into the room, full sheriff-mode activated, and Stiles has to resist the urge to stand up and salute him in greeting.

“He’s cute, he’s funny, he’s great with the kids. He’s never pushed his religion on me.”

“I find that hard to believe considering you’re joining his congregation after what, a week? Because that’s how long it’s been since I’ve seen you. You’re really going to tell me, you see no ulterior motives in this man considering how since last we spoke you have quite literally gone from snipping about the church-moms at school every time we talk to having the pastor and his wife over for Sunday tea?”

“His sister,” Stiles corrects, ignoring the rest of his father’s callout.

“Whatever. Look, it's not even that he's Christian--it's that there's a power dynamic there, and one I see you making a lot of big jumps and changes for. That's a red flag, to me, and trust me, I've seen enough of them to be afraid of how this one'll turn out. I just want to make sure you’re not being taken advantage of by this man. You’ve always been a little rash, but it’s not like you to jump headfirst into schemes this.. This  _big_ for someone, and I’m worried that he might be the wrong person to do it with.”

“You think I haven’t considered that risk already?” Stiles snaps. “Look, dad, I can take care of myself and I can make my own decisions. Even if I’m couldn’t, it’s my damn life and it’s too short at this point to keep me from making my own mistakes.

“Dad—Look.” Stiles sighs, softening, “Derek didn’t push me into the church, okay? I went there first.” he cringes even as the words are coming out; it needs to be said to make his dad’s suspicion stop, but knows that the confession’s exactly what his father never thought he’d hear. And he’d never been fond of surprises.

At first, Stiles doesn’t look his father in the face, only staring down at his hands drumming nervously on the table. He’s expecting his father to yell, for the first time since he came to visit, Stiles gets a good look at his dad and sees how tired he is. His eyes are half-closed, his brow creased and mouth downturned, cheeks slack. He taps at the table, staring ahead of himself into space. Completely crushed.

“Dad, don’t…” but his dad waves him off, turning away and heaving himself off his chair.

“Scott and Allison have soccer practice before their game today, right? They still on opposite teams?” he turns away from Stiles, who doesn’t answer. Heaving himself off his chair, his father ignores the silence and begins to shuffle away from the table. “Tell you what, I’ll take them tonight, okay? I’ll see you when the game starts.”

“Okay.” Stiles’ shoulders sag, and he feels defeat weighing down on his chest, making it hard to breathe. His father will adjust, eventually; he always does.

But that doesn’t make it any easier in the interim.

 

Stiles’ family leave early, claiming they’re going for pre-practice happy meals. Normally Stiles would put his foot down, citing the day as far too exciting for his rugrats to merit McDonald’s, but he knows his dad needs time and knows that this is his way of getting it. And, in a way, it’s nice to have the house to himself. It’s been a rough day, and at first everything’s bouncing around in his head, making him feel jittery and on edge. So he did what any single parent in his position would—cracked open cheese that Scott always deemed too stinky to eat in his presence, grabbed the one ounce of alcohol Laura hadn’t apparently stolen from his house, and zonked out in front of a marathon of pay-per-view Maury episodes. He’s so completely immersed in a world of camembert and unethical lie-detector tests that he almost doesn’t hear the phone ring for the first time. Figuring it’s Lydia and deciding he’s had enough for the day, he ignores it and turns the volume up.

“Come on, Rhonda…”  but the magic’s lost, and the phone rings again, and Stiles swears this time it sounds more urgent. Sighing, he picks himself up and trudges over to the phone, not even bothering to pause the program while Rhonda continues to hit her now ex-boyfriend with pillows from the backstage couch.

“WHAT.” Stiles grabs the phone, expecting Lydia’s voice to come from the other line. His blood runs cold, though, when the person on the other line begins to choke out an apology and, as it turns out, it isn’t Lydia at all.

“Oh, jeez, is this a bad time?” Derek bumbles from the other line, “Sorry, I’ll call back or leave a message or…”

“No! Wait!” Stiles yells, then cringes at how forceful the protest came out. “Sorry, no, it’s fine,” he switches to a whisper.

“Um, sorry, I just…”

“No worries,” Stiles coughs, pushing his voice back to a normal volume, “I just got caught up in Maury.”

“Yes, I can hear that.” Derek blurts. There’s silence for a moment and Stiles can practically hear the blush rising on Derek’s face as he cuts back, “Oh, jeez, that was so not cool, I’m so—“

“Don’t worry!” Stiles giggles, “It’s too loud, and either way, I don’t really care. Seriously. What did you need?” he bites back the urge to add a pet-name to the end of his sentence and instead reaches for the remote, muting the next round of lie-detectors.

“Oh, I was just calling because… Well…” Derek sucks in a breath and there’s silence for a singular moment before the words come tumbling out all at once, “Iwasthinkingabouthowwedidn’treallygetagoodchancetosaygoodbyeandInoticedsometensionwithyourdadandIwanttoapologizeforanyfrictionandalsomoreformallysaybyeevenifit’salittlelate.”

“O… Kay.” Stiles grins widely; he can’t really believe his ears. In the exactly two weeks that he’s known Derek, this is just one more event in a series that demonstrates what a sweet, adorable, irredeemable _nerd_ the man is. “Well, let me just assure you that my dad’s bad behaviour is in no way your fault, and everything’s fine. He’s just… Prickly. Like Agnes, but… Yeah. Ultimately harmless.”

Derek laughs. “Well, that’s relieving to hear.

“So how’s your evening going, everything good? I assume you’re home alone.” the statement’s blunt and innocent, but Stiles can’t help but imagine some extremely formal 14-year-old saying it to his girlfriend. He snickers.

Yeah, everything’s fine. The kids are at soccer practice with their grandpa, so I’m just… Taking advantage. Of having the TV to myself,” he adds quickly, fully aware of how his words might be misconstrued.

“Of course,” Derek says, sounding like he’d never considered any other possibility. “Well, sounds like a great way to relax.”

“Mhm,” Stiles nods. “And yourself? What are you doing on this fine Sunday evening? Or do you make a habit of crashing parishioner’s homes and then disappearing only to call them up later on every Sabbath?”

“Only the special ones,” Derek’s voice is careful, treading. Stiles grins. Finally, he’s getting somewhere.

“Oh?” he plays with the phone cord, twisting it around his finger in a languid way that makes him feel flirtatious, even if Derek isn’t around to see it. “And what’s that supposed to mean?” he holds his breath, hoping to God Derek doesn’t chicken out. And for a second, it’s a legitimate fear; there’s silence on the other line, then the stuttering of a career-talker who’s completely lost for words.

“Derek?” Stiles nudges him again, half-teasing, half-concerned.

“You’re good company,” Derek finally says, his voice plain and direct. “Comfortable. Genuine. You’d be surprised at how hard that can be to come by.”

“Can’t say I am.” Stiles’ heart melts, his face flushing. “But I think I’ve found a pretty good example of my own.”

There’s silence on the other line again, and Stiles inexplicably begins to get nervous. He’d forgotten how hard this is, how caring about someone’s answer can needle at you, make everything seem so much bigger than it is. Holding his breath, he finds himself hoping—no, _praying_ —he hasn’t gone too far, or maybe not far enough.

“You’re sweet.” is all Derek says.

“I’m… sweet?”  Stiles echoes, hoping there’s no tell-tale edge to his voice but seriously doubting it. What kind of compliment is ‘you’re sweet’? Is Derek interested? Is he just trying to be nice? His father’s warning comes creeping back to his mind, and he swallows hard.

“I...” He’s still playing with the phone cord, but now his movements are erratic and jerking, almost like he might rip it out of the wall.

“God, I’m so sorry,” the words come tumbling out from Derek’s end, cutting all of Stiles’ doubts off at the pass. “I just… I haven’t done this in a really long time, okay? You’re a really great guy, Stiles, and I just want to make sure I’m not taking advantage of you.”

“Like in what way?”

“A lot of ways, okay?” Derek snaps. Stiles doesn’t say anything, but can hear the change in Derek’s voice as he backtracks, “Sorry. This is just really hard. I just don’t know you very well yet, but I want to. It’s always exciting when a new parishioner comes in, especially with all of the troubles we’ve… Never mind,” his voice hardens. “The point is, you’re different. And I really, _really_ want to get to know you, but I feel like I need to be careful.”

“Derek…” Stiles starts, but a sound in the background of Derek’s end cuts him off.

“Ah, sorry, I need to go,” Derek becomes muffled all of a sudden, the sound of shuffling couching his words. “Are you free Tuesday at 5? There’s a banquet at the church, it could help us get a lot of funding, but we need someone to help in the kitchen with dishes. I’ll be there too,” Derek adds, “And maybe we could go somewhere after?”

“Sure.” Stiles drops the phone cord, clenching his jaw against what he knows is probably a bad decision. But he’s made too many changes and gone way too far now, and even if he hadn’t--he has a gut feeling that he should trust Derek, and it had been far, far too long since he’d acted on his instincts.

Maybe that was the problem.

“Great.” Derek’s voice is warm, though the shuffling and background noise more persistent. “Sorry, I’m really sorry to have to just run again, but my relatives are over for dinner and--well, you can probably hear them.” As if on cue, a voice shouts _Who are you even TALKING to_ , answered by a taunt of what sounds like _His BOOOOOOYFRIEND_ , most likely from Laura. “ _Guys_ ,” Derek barks a warning. Turning back to Stiles, his voice softens. “Sorry. Anyway, I guess I’ll see you then? Can’t wait.”

“Me neither,” Stiles says, and he hopes Derek meant it as much as he does.

“Bye, Stiles.”

“Bye,” Stiles echoes. He stays on the line for a few minutes after Derek hangs up, listening to nothing but dead air and his own heartbeat before the dial tone jolts him out of his swimming thoughts. He drops the phone back on its receiver, it’s still hot when he picks it back up again less than a second later, jamming the buttons with urgency and excitement.

“Lydia? It’s Stiles. Sit down and get out your wine, have I got some news for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately it looks like it might be a bit longer until the next update, as I'm about to get very busy! See y'all in around two and a half weeks as opposed to the usual 7-10(ish) days. :s
> 
> Thanks so much for reading and providing feedback, all! :)
> 
> (also thanks to roadsider, as per usual, who continues to use their eagle-eye for the greater good)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles finally confronts Derek about his doubts at the church luncheon, and it might just be the push Derek needs to come forward with his feelings...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I recognize that some of y'all may get a little nervous from the chapter summary, but I promise there is no sexual content in this chapter.

In the days before the luncheon, Stiles has a lot of time to think about Derek and what to make of their conversation. No matter how much Lydia reassures him, he can’t shake the feeling of dread that his father might be right, that Derek might be stringing him along for the benefit of the church. Still, he doesn’t cancel; Derek might very well prove him wrong, but Stiles needs to take that chance in order to actually know for sure. So he goes, albeit being careful not to get too excited about it. At least, trying to—it’s hard not to focus on the ‘going somewhere after’ that Derek promised, and Stiles has always been a daydreamer.

“Late and underdressed,” Agnes scolds when he finally reaches the church with kids in tow, the three of them running up to the front steps to where the old woman is laying in wait, sitting on the back of her walker hunched over a guest-list.

“I’m just helping in the kitchen,” Stiles explains with a shrug.

“And since when is that an excuse? In my day…” she trails off when she notices Scott and Allison, who are both looking up at the old woman with a mixture of fear and awe in their eyes.

“And _what_ ,” Agnes spits grimly, “Were you planning to do with _these_?”

“Oh,” Stiles feels his heart plummet into his stomach. “I… Didn’t think about that. Can I just leave them with you, since you’ll be staying up here?”

Agnes responds by flipping over her list and scribbling furiously on its back, leering up at Stiles every few seconds and scowling deeper.

“Hey, what are you—“ Stiles tries to lean over and peek at Agnes’ writing, but she jerks her clipboard away defensively.

“It’s a note to myself,” she growls, “To complain to Derek about the sort of mole-ridden riff-raff we’re letting completely ruin this institution!”

“Oh yeah?” Stiles feels his face grow hot. He knows he shouldn’t let Agnes get to him, but there’s just something about the old hag that makes his blood boil beyond salvation. “Well,” he fires back, “You can go and suck my mole-ridden—“ a noise sounds behind Stiles, and he whips around at lightning speed. “ _Derek!_ ” he exclaims, slapping a broad smile onto his face, “I was _just_ looking for you.”

“Right.” Derek stands with his hands crossed over his chest, head cocked to the side and smirk on full-blast. It’s a good look, and Stiles feels a bit jelly-like when Derek continues with a smooth voice, “How are you, Stiles? Hi, Scott, hi, Allison,” he adds, craning his neck to look behind Stiles. The kids, who in the approximately three seconds that Stiles left them alone had taken to poking at Agnes’ walker while she attempted to beat them off with her pencil, perked up and ran towards Derek with an excited shriek.

“Derek! Derek! Are you going to be in the kitchen with daddy too? Can we help?”

“Derek! Can I tell you about something that happened at school today?”

“Derek!”

“Deeeeeerek!”

“Okay, okay, calm down, rugrats,” Stiles steps in, cutting off the flood of sugar-addled attention Derek suddenly finds attached to his legs. Derek, though, doesn’t seem to mind, instead bringing his hands down to pat the kids on their heads.

“I missed you guys, too,” he giggles, sobering up quickly as he explains, “Listen, I’m very, very busy today. We have a lot of people coming from all over the city to look at the church and see if they want to donate money to help us keep doing all the things we do here. Your dad’s going to help with all the dishes today, too, so neither of us can be around with you. But Mrs. Deaton from Sunday school is in the nursery room with lots of other kids whose parents are helping today, and everyone’s going to watch _Wall-E_. Do you guys like _Wall-E_?”

“Yeah!” they answer in unison, and Stiles just stares at Derek incredulously. _Wall-E_ is the twins’ favourite movie, but there’s no way Derek could have known that. At least, he doesn’t remember any of them mentioning it to him.

“Laura says they talked her ear off about it,” Derek explains directly to Stiles with a wink. Turning back to the kids, he adds, “Okay, do you guys know where the nursery is? Why don’t you head over there now while I go with your dad to set up?”

A cough sounds behind them, and Derek and Stiles turn from watching the kids go to look at Agnes, who’s parked herself directly behind them. Casting a withering glance at Stiles, she thrusts her note at Derek, who reads it while very obviously trying not to laugh.

“Right,” he says, face slack with a seriousness so deep that Stiles has to hide his smirk behind his hand. “Don’t worry, Agnes, I’ll explain the rules of the church directly to Mr. Stilinski and I’m sure everything will be smoothed out.”

“What?” Stiles can’t help but exclaim, “But you should have seen the way—“ Derek, though, just shakes his head, crossing his arms over his chest and cutting Stiles off with a roll of his eyes. _It’s not worth it._

“Now, shall we go down to the kitchen?” Derek turns back to Stiles once Agnes, apparently as closed to satisfied as she’ll ever get, scrambles back to her post to snap at two newly-arrived volunteers. Stiles nods, and Derek smiles, checking around himself before wrapping an arm around Stiles’ shoulder and pulling him close, leading the way. “Great,” Derek’s voice is warm, but Stiles doesn’t respond. He hardly even breathes, in fact; he’s too afraid to break the moment, too intent on savouring the way Derek’s spine crooks to bend closer Stiles when they try to walk in unison, the way his head rests against Derek’s collarbone and the sound of Derek’s heartbeat mixing with the pounding rush of his own. The moment’s over far before Stiles is ready to let go of it, and Stiles is left relatively alone with the dishes except for a few of the congregation moms, listening to their gossip as he mechanically washes dishes— _water, soap, scrub, bleach, rinse, repeat_ —and waits for the scattered moments when Derek will pop in to see ‘how things are going’.

 _Fine, fine,_ the moms tease, _Do you check up on the other stations this much?_

It’s a question Stiles uses most of his scrubbing-time to mull over. Daydreams or not, he can’t quite cast his father’s doubts out of his mind, and he finds himself brooding over every second-guessed emotion he’s ever felt since first visiting the church. It’s an emotion that sticks, and his thoughts are racing and spiraling even after the other moms go home for the day, leaving Stiles with a sizeable pile of dessert-ware to clean globs of cheesecake off. He’s arms-deep in dish-soap, angrily attacking a particularly stubborn spot of dirt, when Derek steps into the kitchen, clearing his throat to alert Stiles to his presence.

“Hey,” Derek says, stepping closer when Stiles hardly even acknowledges him, only keeps scrubbing. “You okay? You seem a little upset.”

 _Oh, hell_. Stiles bites his tongue, knowing full well what’s going to happen when he turns around.

“What is this to you?” he winces even as the words are coming out, knowing full well that they could blow everything. It’s too soon for jealousy or suspicion, if there’s a basis for it at all.

“What… What do you mean?”

Stiles closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to look at Derek’s stricken face, his confused frown. It hurts too much, and right now he needs to save himself from that very thing.

“All…. This.” he gestures around himself half-heartedly. “I need to know, Derek. Are you just playing along so I’ll be an asset to your congregation and help you save it, or are you actually interested in me? Or something else entirely, because it’s like you’re walking this… I don’t know, some kind of impossible tight-rope, and I can never figure out whether or not you’re going to fall on my side, or why you’re even bothering to keep going. And I want to help you, God, I do, but I’ve got too much at stake to waste my time with someone who’s just—“

“You don’t know where I stand?” Derek growls with an intensity Stiles has never heard from the pastor. He turns around to look at Derek, but is surprised to see that Derek’s closed in, standing right behind him and staring intently, a mix of hurt and confusion and frustration on his face and making Stiles’ heart ache.

And that’s when it happens. Derek, still looking Stiles dead in the eyes, grabs Stiles by his shirt and pulls him in for a kiss, his gaze only cutting off when Stiles closes his eyes against the feeling of Derek’s lips on his, smooth and hard and desperate. And then Derek’s hands are mussing his hair, tracing paths down his back, making it impossible for Stiles to think about anything but him.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Stiles breathes when they finally pull apart. Derek doesn’t smile, only burrows his face in the crook of Stiles’ neck, his hands moving down to Stiles’ waist and tightening there, pulling him even closer.

“I like you a lot,” Derek murmurs, “In fact, I think I did almost instantly, and I can’t remember when that happened last, if ever. And I would _love_ to be able to do whatever I can to prove that to you, but I have my congregation to look after. I would hate to make your life miserable with gossip on my account, or push you into something you didn’t want because of my position. And the last thing everyone needs right now is a scandal. That’s why I’ve been so… Spotty. And I’m so, so freaking sorry.”

“I’m scared too, you know.”

“I know.” Derek straightens up to look Stiles in the eyes, his own face betraying nothing but a raw, almost unreadable mess of emotions. “And honestly, I think that’s what scares me most.”

Stiles doesn’t say anything, only leans up and kisses Derek, at first carefully but then letting himself be slow, hard, and, frankly, probably more than a little sloppy. Derek doesn’t just let it happen, but keeps up, and for a pure moment, everything melts away and it’s exactly what Stiles wants.

“I want to make this work.” he decides when they pull apart. Looking up at Derek, he adds, “I mean, if you want to, too.”

“I want to,” Derek smiles, leaning down to land a ginger peck on Stiles’ forehead. “God, I want to.”

“Oop, careful,” Stiles, incorrigible shit that he is, can’t help but smirk, breaking the serious mood. “Jeepers can hear your blasphemy, _Reverend_.”

“Okay, you know what,” Derek starts, letting go of Stiles to stick a mocking finger in the air.

“No, I don’t.” Stiles giggles at the unfinished threat, “But please, enlighten me. You know how that _thrills_ me.”

“Okay, that’s it,” Derek laughs, “Enlighten _this_.” next thing Stiles knows, he’s being hit with a wad of suds and once-warm water to his ear.

“Hey!” he squeals, “Watch it!” dipping his hands into the sink, he scoops up an armful of suds and tries to throw it at Derek, who jumps away just in time and watches the soap smack the floor with a rather harmless _thwack!_

“Goddammit, Derek, go back to brooding over me!” Stiles spits over the sound of Derek’s howling laughter.

“You would like that, wouldn’t you?” Derek teases, coming close again, grabbing Stiles by the waist again and letting Stiles fold into him. Their laughter dies down, and the air gets heavy around them. It’s uncomfortable for Stiles, and makes questions he was hoping would disappear bubble up and unsettle his mind.

“So what happens now?” Stiles raises his head address Derek's question, but Derek looks lost in thought, eyes wide and unfocused as he stares down at the floor. The thought had been on Stiles’ mind, too, but staring at Derek now, it occurs to him that this time, it’s not just his partner’s decision. Or, at least, not wholly. Stiles has Derek, and now it’s up to him to stop thinking, stop hesitating. To not let himself let go.

“Hey,” Stiles says, reaching up and gently grabbing Derek’s chin, guiding the man’s distracted gaze towards himself. “Remember how you said you’d take me someplace after this? How about we make good on that offer?”

“I would love nothing more.”

Stiles is about to lean up for another kiss, an intent Derek looks like he’s about to reciprocate, when a small, familiar cough sounds behind them.

“I’m going home,” Agnes sniffs plaintively, her entire body seething judgment. “I suggest you collect your spawn.”

“Right…” Stiles watches Agnes leave the room, then turns back to Derek.

“So maybe a raincheck on that first date,” Derek sighs, massaging his temples. Stiles laughs and leans up to peck Derek on the cheek.

“I have a better idea, actually. What’d’you say to a little walk in the park?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your patience, y'all, sorry this chapter was a little later than promised, I've been drowning in work/obligations of late. :s On the plus side, I've almost completely finished the draft, meaning most of it just needs editing! So updates should come a little more consistently now. :)


	8. Flirting with You is a Walk in the Park

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek and Stiles have their first date, with Scott and Allison chaperoning, of course.

The park near Stiles’ house is crowded when the four of them arrive, the sound of screaming children making Stiles squirm from almost a block away. On the one hand, a lot of kids meant a lot of parents, meaning Scott and Allison could be watched while Stiles and Derek spent some time together. On the other hand, it wouldn’t exactly be alone time, and Stiles was known enough in the neighbourhood that he did worry about how gossip might affect his children.

 “You okay?” Derek leans over and mutters in Stiles’ ear, squeezing his hand tighter. They’d been holding hands since leaving the church, and Stiles had to admit, it was a nice feeling; heavy, but safe.

 “Yeah,” he shakes his head, “I’m just… It’s a lot.” Derek loosens his grip, and Stiles, almost instinctively, counteracts by squeezing it until his knuckles are white.

 “Do you want to talk about what’s worrying you?” Derek mutters.

 “Not in front of my kids, I don’t,” Stiles rebuts. He can feel Derek’s eyes trailing on him, hear the cogs turning in the man’s head as he stares, trying to figure out what’s wrong, but Stiles just tosses out a reassuring smile before turning away, eyes forward and staring into space as they walk, their pace seeming to quicken with every step.

They can’t get to the park fast enough. Scott and Allison are off almost immediately, Scott charging to the sand-pit and Allison springing onto the swings, which means that Derek and Stiles are relatively alone before Stiles can really prepare himself for the fact. He’s about to suggest they sit on a bench when Derek plunks down right next to him, spreading out and making a home for himself on the grass.

 “Dude,” Stiles looks at him questioningly, “Aren’t your pants going to get dirty?” Derek shrugs in response, bringing up a hand and gesturing for Stiles to join him. Stiles obliges.

 “Don’t you dare get all spiritual about grass,” Stiles warns, shooting Derek a sheepish look.

 “Fine, fine,” Derek puts up his hands in mock surrender, “Though I’m disappointed I don’t get to trial run tomorrow’s sermon on you.”

 “Hah! And what sermon was that going to be?”

 “We Are All Dirt.” Derek gestures around himself and Stiles bursts into laughter. Derek chuckles along, but teeters for a moment when the good mood settles, as if he’s not quite sure which hat to wear or what move to make next.

So, in true Derek fashion, he winds up awkwardly plonking his hand on Stiles’ shoulder.

 “This is nice,” he says.

 “You’re nice,” Stiles chuckles. “And anyway, dude, you don’t need to be awkward around me. I know I said it’s a lot, but that’s _my_ deal, not yours. We’re just… Getting into the swing of things right now. I’ll tell you what’s too much or not enough, I don’t expect you to tiptoe around it preemptively like some kind of mind reader.”

 “You sure?” Derek looks hesitant, but his grip his grip on Stiles’ shoulder loosening significantly. Stiles leans in and kisses Derek on the cheek in response, nestling his head on Derek’s shoulder and giving a comfortable and he hopes reassuring sigh. Derek pauses for a moment, then kisses Stiles on the forehead.

 “I’m sure,” Stiles finally says. Derek doesn’t say anything in response, only begins to slowly stroke Stiles’ arm with his thumb. Stiles feels himself relax, nuzzling his head into Derek’s neck and giving a soft, muffled whine of content. They stay like that for a moment, Stiles practically drunk with happiness and feeling Derek’s own muscles give way before all his tension suddenly returns at once, and his grip changes from a soft trace to a fist squeezing hard at the fabric of Stiles’ shirt. When Stiles looks up to see what’s wrong, Derek’s face is pale.

Standing not three feet away from them is a woman staring directly at the two of them, a smug look on her face. Stiles straightens up his posture and readies himself to snap at the woman when she tosses a final smirk their way and turns away, calling her kid and walking out of the park.

 “The nerve of some people,” Stiles grumbles. “Don’t worry about it, Der.”

Derek doesn’t respond, only continues to watch the woman and her child walk farther and farther away until they finally turn a corner and disappear out of sight.

 “Derek?” Stiles repeats, waving a hand in front of Derek’s face. “You okay?”

 “Oh, um… Yeah,” Derek shakes himself off, casting a glance at Stiles and then over towards where Allison seems to be playing a rather tyrannical game of house with Scott and a few other kids in the sand-pit. He relaxes again, grabbing Stiles and pulling him close.

“I’m totally fine.”

 

After the kids have been sufficiently tired out at the park, Derek follows Stiles home and they have dinner as a family, Derek spending time with the kids in the evening while Stiles gets a break to himself to nap. It’s quite possibly the most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for Stiles, and it’s the best sleep he’s had in months.

Of course, it ends after fifteen minutes when the door to his room opens and full-grown footsteps tiptoe into his room.

 “Derek?” Stiles slurs, jolting awake.

 “Shh! Oh, jeepers, sorry, Stiles. Go back to sleep.”

 “Are you... Are you hiding from my kids?” Stiles rubs his eyes, his voice incredulous through the still-lingering cloud of sleep thickening in his throat.

 “ _Shhh!_ ” Derek hisses. “We’re playing hide and seek and if I lose I have to give them my shoes.”

 “Derek, they’re six years old.”

 “Yes. Yes they are. Which is why, you understand, I cannot lose.”

Stiles laughs, greeted by a hissing _shh_ from Derek.

 “Okay, okay,” Stiles sighs theatrically, “Make yourself at home, I guess.” for a moment, he considers inviting Derek onto the bed with him, but loses his nerve after glancing over at Heather’s empty space.

 _Not yet_ , he thinks. Derek, if he notices the hesitation, doesn’t say anything, only comes towards Stiles’ side and sits on the edge of the bed, reaching over to pat Stiles on the head as he does.

 “Hey!” Stiles protests. Derek smirks.

 “Go back to sleep,” he teases.

 “Make me,” Stiles rebuts, only half-joking. Deep down, he’s still the little shit he was back before fatherhood, before all this, and there’s a small sliver of a dare he kind of hopes Derek will rise to hidden in the sarcastic retort. And apparently, there’s a bit of an asshole in Derek, too, because he retaliates not with words, but by promptly throwing Stiles’ blanket to the side, then lying down and spreading out, practically flattening Stiles in the process. They wrestle for a moment before settling, Stiles curled in Derek’s arms. And Stiles can tell the gesture’s meant to be playful, comfortable, even cutesy, but here, lying still and silent, facing Heather’s empty space, all Stiles can feel is his heart echoing heavily in his chest and the numb buzzing of sadness and nerves left untreated.

Derek’s grip tightens, and Stiles knows he can feel it. He’s vaguely aware that he should feel self-conscious about what’s going on; should stiffen, should maybe push Derek away and dramatically declare that naptime’s over. But Stiles is tired, and so he forces himself to relax despite all his doubts and misgivings.

A knock at the door interrupts the moment suddenly. Derek stiffens, and Stiles begins to count down under his breath. He doesn’t even make it to ‘two’ before the door swings open and two clumsy balls of squealing barge into the room, screaming for he and Derek before jumping on the bed and joining the cuddle-pile.

 “We found you! We found you!” Scott and Allison chant, kicking their feet and burrowing into Derek. Derek moans in mock surrender, splaying out his limbs and letting the twins latch onto them as they clambour about. Watching the whole thing, seeing yet another instance of just how quickly Derek has become a part of the family to his kids, Stiles’ heart swells.

Outside, the sound of rain begins to hit the windows, and for the first time in five years, Stiles moves three inches to the left, starting Derek’s migration the same way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pretty short & sweet, but at last, the plot begins to thicken even in the midst of all this chapter's fluff... 
> 
> Who is the mystery woman in the park, and why did Derek get so tense? What does Stiles' moving over mean? What do Scott and Allison think of all this? Stay tuned, folks (and also, thanks for staying tuned up to this point)...


	9. Full Circle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Over brunch with Lydia, Stiles runs into someone he'd rather avoid, and learns a thing or two about Derek's past.

In the days that follow, it’s as if Stiles has installed a revolving door at the front of his house. Derek leaves the next morning, shirt rumpled and eyes swollen with a dumb, comfortable smile on his face and Scott and Allison in the window frantically waving good-bye, and comes back not six hours later for dinner with the family that night. Sometimes he brings Laura, and he and Stiles chat or watch TV or go for a walk while she watches the kids; sometimes, though, they spend time as a group. It’s a mixed feeling for Stiles, who on the one hand is grateful for the company, especially Derek’s, but on the other, is hesitant and jumpy at the thought of being seen around town together so much. He’s never been one for neighbourhood gossip, but Stiles can’t help fear it as the days pass and he and Derek become more and more inseparable faster and faster. All of his nerves, though, melt the moment he and Derek are actually together, whether they’re just cuddling on the couch or sharing a kiss over dinner, and Stiles feels almost invincible.

And, to hear others tell it, the change is quite noticeable.

“Thank God you two aren't banging, or you'd both be insufferable,” Laura notes bitterly as Stiles slides into the seat opposite from her at their favourite brunch spot. Stiles rolls his eyes, refusing to humour the comment, and instead choosing to retaliate by stealing a piece of melon off her plate of already-cold French toast.

“You’re late,” Lydia shoots him a disdainful look as she watches him chew the fruit, which is tinged with sweetness from the runoff of her toast’s maple-syrup.

“I was at work,” Stiles gestures down to himself, still in scrubs, “I had to take my lunch an hour early for this, which meant that I had to finish up tightening the braces on a very uncooperative twelve-year-old first. And much as I hate the fact, that does have to take precedence. Besides, it’s not my fault you break at an ungodly hour.”

“Eleven is hardly ungodly, Stiles,” Lydia grunts, indignantly biting into a piece of her toast. “Anyway, I ordered an omellette for you a couple minutes ago so it should be here soon, then I won’t keep you much. You like ham and mushrooms, no cheese, right?”

Stiles’ eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Um… Yeah. Thanks.” he says. Lydia shrugs.

“So, I’ve heard all the rumours,” she shifts gears almost immediately, leaving Stiles no time to settle in, “Now I want to hear it from the source. Sharon says Derek spent the night at your place Saturday because she saw him leaving with you in the morning, and Dee-Anne confirmed you guys got to church together. Carol says he picked up your kids from school on Wednesday, and that’s not even mentioning that Kira—“

“Ahhhbupbupbup!” Stiles jolts across the table, wagging his finger frantically, “We’re not gonna talk about the Kira thing. Not in front of the tourists,” he shoots a glance over at a table of Austrian visitors showing obvious distaste for the joint’s coffee before looking back at Lydia, daring her to continue. She rolls her eyes.

“Stiles, when you go to free-swim with a literal pastor only for a member of his congregation to find you both making out in the boys’ locker room with his hands on your ass, we’re going to talk about it.”

Stiles reddens deeply, but Lydia looks unfazed. “So what is this now? Are you officially together? Or is this some kind of, like, weird whirlwind physical thing?”

“I’m pretty sure we’re together. It turns out, Derek felt pretty much the same way about me from pretty much the same time onwards. And we’ve got… Some issues to work out, so we’re taking it slow—“ Lydia snorts skeptically, and Stiles rolls his eyes. “Anyway, it’s kind of… It is pretty whirlwind in a way, I guess? Not that it’s going to fizzle out or anything. At least, I don’t think so. We’re not really going by normal trajectories, we’re doing that figure-it-out-as-we-go-along thing.”

“And that doesn’t bother you?”

“It did at first,” Stiles answers honestly, “But I feel safe doing it with Derek. The more time I spend with him, the more sense it makes. And on the one hand, it’s terrifying to get into that again, but on the other… That’s how I remember it’s supposed to feel.”

“Yeah.” Lydia smiles. “So I guess you’re just gonna continue like this for a while? Or is Derek planning to announce it some time?”

A waiter comes by and slides a plate laden with a giant omellette and a small bowl of fruit & tater-tots, and Stiles is momentarily distracted by the prospect of food, all too happy to dodge the question in favour of mushroomy, eggy goodness. Lydia kicks his shin under the table, coughing loudly and reminding him of her limited time and patience.

“Okay, okay, geez,” Stiles pouts. “I’m not sure, okay? I’m so afraid of ruining what we have, I don’t want to bring any sort of development or change up. Derek is… He’s scared, I think, and being really cautious about this—“

Lydia snorts. Stiles shoots her a look and continues, coolly, “I’m afraid that bringing up making it public or official will scare him off, or make it seem like I’m trying to get him to prove something. Neither of which I’m trying to do—this is all wayyy too new for me to put that kind of demand on him.”

“But you will eventually?” Lydia raises an eyebrow. Stiles considers the question seriously, turning it over in his mind and letting it sink into his chest. He’s been enjoying his emerging relationship thus far with a sense of lightness and carefreeness, suspended with Derek in the moment, but Lydia’s question pulls him back into doubt for a moment, reminds him of all the teetering uncertainties he had been doing so well at leaving far above his head. And now, sitting in front of someone who’s holding him directly accountable, he’s less sure how to proceed.

Suddenly, though, there’s a bump at his table and a bit of a commotion as confusion arises for a split second. A woman had hit the table with her thigh and fallen over slightly, and Stiles was so busy helping her up he didn’t notice Lydia’s distasteful recoil or register who she was until she had straightened and turned to face him. The woman smiled saccharinely at him, and a shudder went down his spine, freezing his blood cold.

“Thanks so much,” the woman from the park sneered, “I’m so sorry about that.”

“Um… No problem,” Stiles says, despite Lydia’s less-than-subtle eyebrow and mouth contortions that seem to be warning him to keep his trap shut. The woman seems satisfied at the response, and shifts her weight, clearly intending to stay for what Stiles already thinks is far too long.

 “You know, you look familiar,” her voice is long and stretched, spinning, a spider weaving lace. “Have we met?”

“I don’t think so.” Stiles replies, flat and curt. He doesn’t know why yet, but he knows instinctively that want to give this woman any more than she’s already bound to try to take from him, for whatever reason. His bad feeling intensifies, though, when she extends a hand.

“Kate Argent,” her smile, if at all possible, widens as she adds, “I’m the founder and head pastor over at Cedar UC. Pleasure to meet you.”

“We already know who you are,” Lydia snaps, “And we have no interest in whatever you have to say, so why don’t you move on?” even Kate looks taken aback by the outburst, and Lydia reddens.

 “Too strong, Martin,” she whispers to herself, grabbing the mimosa she had been nursing beside her plate and downing half in one regretful gulp.

“Anyway,” Kate glares at Lydia before turning back to smile, her frown disappearing and face returning to a welcoming calm frighteningly quickly, “Thanks so much for the help…”

“Stiles,” Stiles offers, blushing despite the terseness of his voice. He hadn’t intended to give Kate his name, but it just seemed to slip out. Lydia kicks him under the table, and he shoots her a look before turning back to Kate. He intends to tell her that he’s busy, that she should get going again and leave him alone, but she cuts him off at the pass with a hand on his shoulder. He tenses, and she smirks.

“I’ll see you, Stiles,” she purrs, bringing her hand down and tracing it along his arm before finally withdrawing and turning to walk away, satisfied.

Stiles, for his part, feels like he’s going to be sick.

“Well, count my day ruined.” Lydia seethes, frowning deeply. “You okay, Stiles?”

“Uh, yeah.” he shakes his head. “Who is she, though? Like, that’s not the first time I’ve seen her, and she clearly wants something…”

“Your soul, probably.” Lydia notes bitterly.

“Okay, seriously. Is there some kind of beef with Cedar I’m getting caught up in? Is she dangerous? Or did she just beat you at the brownie bake-off fall sale-a-thon or someth—“

“Don’t even joke!” Lydia jabs a fork at him, a gesture which probably would have been threatening if there wasn’t a piece of cold, sopping toast dangling from the prongs.

“It’s been three years, Lydia. I think you can talk to Karen again.”

“The Martin brownie supremacy is timeless, Stiles, and I’m not going to talk to someone who defiles the name of baking by submitting a bastardized farce.”

“She used store-bought icing!” Stiles exclaims, “Three years ago!”

“We’re getting off topic,” Lydia sniffs.

“Right,” Stiles sighs heavily, letting himself calm down before continuing with his initial endeavor. “So, mind telling me what the Hell’s going on? Because not two weeks ago, that woman was in the park staring me and Derek down she was gonna send us to Hell herself, now she’s purposefully bumping into my table at brunch.”

“Okay, well, I don’t want to alarm you, but that’s Kate Argent,” Lydia becomes serious almost instantaneously, making Stiles nervous. She stares straight at Stiles, her eyes wide as she explains, “Derek’s ex-wife.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not super happy with the title but oh well. Thanks for all the feedback, y'all! :) Might be a tad before the next update--the next chapter will be quite heavy and I think I'll need some time to review it before I post it.


	10. And the Static Roared Again, Hungry for Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles asks Derek for some clarification on all the confusing circumstances around their relationship, and Derek finally sheds some light on what's going on between he and Stiles, he and Kate, and everything in-between.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title taken from There Will Be No Divorce by the Mountain Goats.
> 
> Gigantic trigger warnings for homophobia, biphobia, abuse, sexual assault, coercive sexual assault, and corrective rape. 
> 
> There are no graphic descriptions. Rather, this is a chapter about dealing with the aftermath, as well as some broad description.

Stiles knocks on the heavy oak door, bouncing nervously on his heels until he hears footsteps and rustling inside. Finally, after what seems like way too long, the door swings open, his father standing grimly in the doorway.

 “Stiles,” the Sherriff sounds surprised, but his expression melts to one of pure relief as he sighs, “About time.”

Stiles expects his dad to gloat, to make a snarky comment or slip in a few _I told you so_ ’s as he brews their coffee and hastily gathers a couple stale low-sugar scones from a box on the counter, but the teasing doesn’t come.

 “So what’s the problem?” Stiles’ dad slides a scone and a mug in front of him, grunting as he sits down across from him. “You find out something you didn’t want to?”

Stiles bristles at the hint to his father’s suspicion, but forces himself to be calm as he answers, “Sort of, but not what you think. Derek and I are doing great, or so I thought. He’s… He’s really into me, dad, and says he doesn’t want to hurt me or drag me into unnecessary drama.”

 “Sounds like a pretty reasonable goal.” his dad shrugs, “But let me guess, the drama’s finding you anyway?”

 “Pretty sure shit’s gonna hit the fan, but the thing is, Derek didn’t _tell_ me about any of this. He was really vague, and now I find out he’s got an ex-wife, and she’s apparently the pastor at the rival church in town.”

 “Rival church? Isn’t that kind of, you know, not what that whole business is about?”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “You’d think so. Apparently it was a really messy divorce, and that’s how the rivalry came about. I’m not so clear on the details. Lydia was pretty insistent that I should get the full story from Derek.”

His dad is quiet for a while, busying himself with picking at his scone or taking sips of his coffee. Stiles watches him, squirming, holding his breath.

 “Honestly, Stiles, you’ve both got baggage,” his dad finally says, staring dead into Stiles in that all-seeing way back from his sheriff days. “I think it’s a bit of a red flag that he knows everything about yours and you know nothing about his.”

 “Daaad,” Stiles groans, “Can you stop already? Derek isn’t trying to—“ Stiles jumps in, but his father holds up a hand and shakes his head, cutting him off.

 “I didn’t say anything about his profession. Look, I know I’m not… The gentlest when it comes to this stuff. Religion’s something I’ve tried to stay away from, and I thought it was best to keep you away, too. I like what I know, you know that. But if believing in God makes you happy, even if it’s only so you can be with Derek… I’m not going to rob you of that. I can swallow it, for your sake if not for his.”

 “Thanks, dad.” Stiles smiles warmly, the pleasant surprise of hearing his father coming around sending a wave of relief over him. His father, ever the sentimentalist, simply grunts and shoves half his scone in his mouth, only to have it crumble down his shirtfront.

 “Shit!” standing up, he dusts himself off and looks around himself, disoriented, before settling back on Stiles. “What I meant to say was, you already know that relationships need trust and communication to work. If he’s not telling you key stuff, that could be a problem. So you need to give him an opportunity to tell you what’s going on—don’t play a part in keeping yourself pushed away, right?”

 “Mm.” Stiles takes a sip of his coffee.

 “Mm,” his dad parrots. “Now, since I didn’t get to eat hardly any of mine, where did I leave those godforsaken scones…”

 “ _Dad_!”

 

His father’s advice sticks with Stiles for the rest of the day, and long after the day turns into the next, and the next, and the next. He sees Kate in the supermarket, bumps into her at the community centre, even sees her conveniently jogging by the local school at 8 o’clock one morning. Some of these instances, she tries to talk to Stiles—others, though, she’s eerily silent, just staring.

It’s a lot of stress, and Stiles _knows_ he should talk to Derek about it, but he’s afraid, though of what he can’t exactly put his finger on. That is, until he finally lets his anxiety slip in what might be a record for his most tactless approach yet the proceeding Sunday after church. He and Derek had the entire day planned out—thanks to a birthday party in the area which both Scott and Allison were invited to, Stiles would finally be in Derek’s neighbourhood, meaning they’d have three sweet hours, provided there were no incidences (and Stiles, who had pre-delivered a list of sensory no-nos and allergy triggers to the birthday boy’s unsuspecting parents, is hoping to bank on that despite his hesitations), all to themselves in Derek’s apartment. And that makes him nervous.

Stiles has never dealt with nerves that well, and the hours before church that day are no exception. He should probably talk about the jitters associated with leaving one of your usually-bullied children in an environment filled with kids who only invited him because he’s a package-deal with his more-fun sister, or with the fact that said sister has severe allergies to everything. Or maybe the deep fear and denial of the Big Talk that he’s going to need to have with his maybe-soon-but-not-quite-yet-I-think boyfriend, who will be hosting him, completely alone, in his home for a few hours, where things might get heated, celibacy vows be damned. Oh, he _should_ talk about it, or journal, he knows, but Stiles Stilinski doesn’t process that way.

No, Stiles instead works through his anxiety by masturbating in the shower before the service. Hey, he’s been under a lot of stress, and anyway, self-care is important, right? It’s an extra bit of energy he doesn’t need, though, and it bites him in the ass almost the minute he steps into Derek’s apartment later that day, after he’s been buzzing with muddled, uncontrollable energy for far longer than is probably recommended.

 “I’m so glad to have you all by yourself,” Derek breathes when they finally get into his place, grabbing Stiles hard by the waist and pulling him closer.

 “Not with Kate hanging over my head, you don’t,” Stiles blurts out, cursing himself out even as the words are still being said. Derek stops, mid-hickey, and recoils. His brow is creased into a frown, his face scrunched, though his expression isn’t angry. Rather, it looks more afraid.

Above all, though, Derek looks tired.

 “What did she say to you?” Derek brings his hands to Stiles’ and squeezes, steadying himself.

“She keeps trying to get more info about my life. I don’t tell her much, but she knows who my kids are and I have no idea how. I’m kind of close to calling the police, or at least I would be, only… I don’t think she’s planning to hurt me. It’s weird, it seems like she’s just… Trying to get to know me.”

 “Let me guess--she keeps bringing up Cedar and telling you to join?”

 “No, actually,” Stiles’ eyebrows shoot up in surprise, “You really think that’s what this is about?”

“Well, on the surface it might be. All part of a master plan, you know?” Stoles wants to laugh at the suggestion, but Derek looks completely serious.

 “You’re scaring me,” Stiles mutters,  “This is all starting to scare me big-time, Der.”

 “Believe me, I didn’t want any of this to—“

 “Be quiet,” Stiles shakes his head, “And just tell me what the deal is.”

 

 “Kate and I met in divinity college,” Derek starts, “She was my orientation leader, and she was… Amazing. Really charismatic and really friendly.” He and Stiles sit on the couch in his living room, slumped together as they watch the view of the city from the 11th floor. Derek’s apartment is pretty amazing, Stiles has to admit—built on smooth hard-tile floors, the décor is warm and colourful, minimalistic. Open. It’s indicative, for Stiles, and hopeful as he lays across Derek’s chest, closing his eyes against the deep reverberations of the man’s speech. The air is chilly, clean and crisp, the hum of a humidifier accompanying Derek as he continues, “I didn’t talk to her much after orientation; there was never really an opportunity. We only really saw each other in chapel or the dining hall, since she was a year ahead of me and in a different community elective.  So we were friendly, but not a lot more.

“Then over the summer I stayed at school to do a course. Ancient Hebrew, which was like, the equivalent of my arch-nemesis in college.”

 “Same,” Stiles jokes, and Derek flicks his cheek.

“Anyway, it was boring and draining and only six hours a week, not counting the homework, and I was basically going to die if I didn’t have something else to do.”             

“So you went on a big, alcohol-fuelled bender like any college kid would, and who should appear, topless, at the frat, but Ka—“

 “Stiles, can you take this seriously, please?”

 “Sorry,” Stiles sighs, “I’m just trying to break the tension a little.” Derek gives an ugly, dry laugh that makes Stiles wince.

 “Trust me, if you think it’s tense now, you may want to just stop, because we haven’t even _begun_ to get to the ugly part.” Derek whips, his voice bitter and eyes narrowed into slits. “And we didn’t meet at a frat, this was grad school. _Religious_ grad school. To find friends I joined one of the missions run by the college. The particular one I helped facilitate was a centre for drug-involved new and expectant parents. They put me in the childcare department, particularly to play with the older boys, since the people in charge had this idea that sober male role models would do them good. It’s not hugely important, but yeah. That’s where I ran into Kate again—she had a similar position of honour with the girls.

“At first, we just started talking again, and were really friendly, but then we started coordinating stuff for the boys and the girls to do together. And that’s sort of… How we got to know each other.

“From there it was dinner and movies, meeting up after class… All sorts of stuff. Or not; sometimes we’d just spend time hanging out at her place, or in my dorm. Whatever. I didn’t care; I just wanted to be with Kate, because she was amazing. She had this, like, rationality about her, but still was so charming. Magnetic, almost. And she was just constantly going out of her way to get involved, she was everywhere. I loved that about her. I loved _everything_ about her. So I stuck around. And then I introduced myself to her folks, she spent Thanksgiving with mine… So on, so forth. By the time she graduated, we were engaged, and when I graduated, we moved in together and started on our dream, opening and operating a congregation together.”

“Beacon hills?”

“Mhm. We got married in it, actually. We were _huge_ back then, and the sanctuary was _packed_ , not just with our family and friends, but with almost the entire congregation trying to cram in. We had people standing in the atrium and everything—everyone wanted to wish us well, and everyone wanted to see us _do_ well. And for a couple years we did.”

 “And then?”

 “And then something felt different with me. The way I related to men started to change. I started to be… More overtly interested in them, I guess you could say? At first it was just like, subtly checking them out. But after a while it got bigger and more pressing and less ignorable, and it’s not like I tried hard, anyway. I’ve never been on the wrong side of church history that way, you know what I mean?”

 “But let me guess…”

Derek nods. “Kate and I had always disagreed about that. Kate’s significantly more conservative than me, and always had been. We managed to just circumvent it by deciding not to talk about it, and even in our congregation—we didn’t go out of our way to make it an affirming congregation, but we didn’t outright condemn anything, either; compromise. Anyway, the basic beliefs of compassion, love, etcetera were still the same, and we were lucky that in our years, we didn’t really have anyone who tested our value-limits. No open LGBT people, no people needing options counseling, we had a big youth group at one point but both of us just agreed not to put sex in their curriculum. If I’d had my way I would have done all of that stuff, but I didn’t, so.”

 “So then… You kept this a secret too?” Stiles glosses over Derek’s last confession, waving away Derek’s sheepish and regretful look, his own expression intent and open.

 “I knew it’d be the end if I told her, and I still did love Kate and was still attracted to her. I wanted to continue being married to her and I wanted to grow old with her. But the thing is…”

 “... Relationships need trust and communication to work,” Stiles quotes his dad, and Derek grins despite himself. The smile disappears quickly, though, as he continues, swallowing hard.

 “I started getting really jumpy and secretive around Kate, and then I started refusing intimacy. And she respected it, at first, but then it got into her head and… She got mean instead of trying to figure out what was wrong. We started fighting. One day it got really, really bad. She was accusing and I was defensive, and I… Let it slip. I think I screamed something along the lines of ‘if you weren’t such a bitch all the time, maybe I’d tell you I was bisexual’?”

 “Shit,” Stiles offers. Derek laughs in agreement.

 “Yep. I mean, it was immature, and I’d do it differently if I could go back, but I can’t, and that’s what happened, I guess. And wouldn’t you know it, it made everything worse. She started screaming even more, she charged at me at one point, I think, and then she kind of reached her climax of rage and just started praying for my soul. I left and I didn’t come back until late that night, but I found her waiting with a kitchen knife and she told me, _get out of my house and don’t come back until you’re cured. I want a divorce_.”

“That fast?”

“I begged her to reconsider and told her this was just reactionary thinking, but she was adamant. So I called Laura and spent a couple nights at her place until I got a message from Kate saying to come home.”

“But obviously things didn’t get better.”

“Kate has this idea that bisexuality is gayness before the point of no return. So she thought I was fixable. Which means she thought if she tried new shit… Intimately…”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Stiles jolts up, his heart pounding on Derek’s behalf, “Derek, she didn’t…”

“She did,” Derek nods, “And I let her, even though really I didn’t want to, because she told me it would save our marriage and made me feel like I had no choice. She read up on all of these ‘experiments’ that were supposed to help, but…” he trails off, staring into space, and Stiles inches closer, grabbing Derek in a hug.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” he mutters, landing a soft kiss on Derek’s neck and squeezing a little tighter. Derek doesn’t return the touch, but relaxes into Stiles’ touch.

“So yeah… I divorced her, and she wasn’t too happy. I think she wanted to be the one to do it? So when she didn’t get that satisfaction, it was a whole other side of Kate. About a month into the divorce process, when it was almost final, she went off-script on her sermon and went into a giant, anti-LGBT rant. And then she outed me at the end of it. Then not two days later, there were newsletters being sent to the whole congregation about how Kate was starting her own congregation on Cedar Street, gosh knows how long she’d been planning _that_. The worst thing is, though… A lot of people left with her. Probably most of the congregation, actually.” he gives a bitter laugh, “I guess silence and dodging doesn’t just breed neutrality, after all.”

“Oh, God, Derek…” Stiles starts, but Derek just grunts and folds further into Stiles, his eyes squeezed shut.

“I made mistakes, Stiles, but now Kate’s determined to make me pay by taking everything from me.”

“And that includes me?”

“It’s included every single person I’ve tried to date since her, both men and women,” Derek admits. “She’s usually pretty successful too—I knew her for a very, very long time, so she knows all my buttons and flaws and exactly how to exploit them.”

“Seems like a lot of trouble.” Stiles frowns, and Derek doesn’t respond. Stiles wavers, a raw surge of protectiveness suddenly hitting him in the chest. “What’s her goal, just to make you miserable?”

“Basically. She wants me to leave ministry and see Beacon Hills shut for good, and she knows that we’re small enough now that if I quit, the presbytery would just amalgamate the congregation with Cedar and wouldn’t bother finding me a replacement. The church doesn’t bring in nearly enough revenue for that.”

They’re silent for a while, Derek’s hand gripping Stiles’ tightly on his lap.

“Hey.” Stiles, returning the squeeze, leans over and kisses Derek on the cheek, soft and cautious at first, then again harder, more reassuring. “I’m not going anywhere, okay? Kate can’t get rid of me this time. We’ll be okay, I promise.”

“Thank you,” Derek smiles despite himself, but it’s a sad, almost hopeless smile that breaks Stiles’ heart.

“Can I ask you one more thing?” Stiles tests the water, scanning Derek’s face for signs of trouble. Derek, though, looks completely calm as he nods.

“Shoot.”

“Is this the reason you’ve been so, um… _Non-committal?_ ” Stiles shifts unevenly, wincing at how the word sounds out loud. Derek, too, seems surprised.

“Non-commital?” he repeats, his brows creased upwards.

“Well, we’ve been going for what, three weeks now? And we rarely have a moment to ourselves. You’re spending time with my kids, you’ve met my dad—“

“Okay, well, I’d hardly call _that_ a successful endeavor—“

“—But you still won’t tell me whether this is all official.” Stiles finishes his point, ignoring Derek’s sarcasm. “Look, I know this is a lot to deal with, especially after spilling your guts out to me about Kate. But I just want to know the reason why it seems that everyone in the neighbourhood except me seems to know if I can call you my boyfriend yet.”

“You want to call me your boyfriend?” Derek gives a small, surprised laugh.

“Well, I’d hardly call you my grandp—“ Stiles starts, rolling his eyes, but Derek cuts him off with a shake of his head, and Stiles sees that there are tears starting to gather in the pastor’s eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Derek looks away, “It’s just… I forgot how good that feels. I haven’t made it this far with anyone years, and I didn’t want to jump ahead or get too excited and scare you off, so I tried to be cool about it. Especially because of your whole situation with Scott and Allison and, well, your family. And now you’re telling me I could’ve been calling you mine this whole time?” he laughs again, practically lunging forward to give Stiles a sloppy, enthusiastic kiss. It’s infectious, and for a second, Stiles forgets about their conversation minutes ago, forgets the threat Kate’s trying to pose.

For just a second, everything is just warmth, love, and Derek.

“I wanna do it, Stiles,” Derek says, “I want to make us official. If… If you’re okay with that?” he looks expectantly at Stiles, a pure and intent innocence in his expression that makes Stiles want to cover him in kisses all over again, hold him tight and never let him go.

“I definitely want to do that,” Stiles grins, settling for just one peck on Derek’s cheek before resting his head contentedly on Derek’s shoulder, “God, you have no idea.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a lot to say about this chapter, which means I'm actually going to write very little about it.
> 
> I don't mean to suggest that Christians are all evil homophobes. Obviously I don't think that's true. But I think it's an important issue to talk about. Sexual assault within Christian communities happens sometimes. Sometimes it's "corrective". It's not an insult to All Christians to write about it. And I felt it was important to write about it.
> 
> I would prefer if people didn't make a lot of comments on this chapter. I don't feel like I'm ready to have it picked apart, but I super appreciate all the engagement that's been going on. Y'all are wonderful.
> 
> Stay safe & healthy, all. Keep rockin'.


	11. You've Got Some 'Splaining to Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Derek finally go public, including finally breaking the news to Scott and Allison.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SUPER SORRY for how long this update took. It is also (unfortunately) unbeta'd, but I really really hope that my own editing makes up for it. 
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy!

Despite being ‘official’ for almost a week, nothing really changes between Derek and Stiles until next Sunday, when a California heatwave makes its way to Beacon Hills far earlier than Stiles would like to think should be allowed. Stiles has never done well in the heat, and in the stuffy, high-ceilinged sanctuary of Beacon Hills, he’s practically dying. Serves him right for sitting in the direct path of the church’s largest window, he supposes as he tugs at the damp collar of his shirt.

In fact, he's so busy focusing on the irony of dying in a church that at first, Stiles doesn’t notice Derek say his name, or the expectant and happy look Derek turns to him from the pulpit. In fact, Stiles doesn’t notice anything at all until almost the entire congregation’s looking at him, a few of them tittering as they break into an applause that quickly gains speed and enthusiasm.

 “Huhgh!” Stiles coughs back to life, peeling himself off the back of the pew he was previously occupied with suffering on, and claps along with the rest of the congregation. “What’s going on?” still clapping, he turns to the old man next to him.

“Your boyfriend just told everyone what’s what, is what’s going on!” the old man, whose shirt is emblazoned with the word (his name?) ‘MARTY,’ chuckles in response. At first, Stiles can hardly believe his ears. He hadn’t known what he was expecting, but a huge announcement in front of the church? It was mortifying and cheesy and ridiculous and absolutely perfect, and Stiles is incredibly proud. And from Derek’s dumb, wide grin as the choir’s finishing music begins to swell, Stiles can tell he thinks and feels the same.

There’s a new energy in the church as people begin to trickle out of the sanctuary, apparent in the gossipy buzz that rises even before the organ trundles through its final few clangy, jarring chords. It’s strangely intimidating for Stiles; a month ago, he wouldn’t have cared what anyone thought, but now his ears burn as he walks past whispering parishioners, his posture jerking as he self-consciously tries to walk erect and confident. It's a weird feeling, his sudden burst of self-consciousness, especially since realistically speaking, he probably has less to prove now than he did when he was just a surly intruder to these people.

Still, he supposed the stakes are much, much higher now.

Stiles doesn’t stay long after the service, despite Derek and Lydia’s insistence that a meet-and-greet coffee is _AB-so-lutely necessary_ for impression management. Sure, he wants the rest of the congregation to like him, but it’s not like he’s completely new, and anyway, he didn’t exactly sign on to be Derek’s Wholesome Church Spouse.

He looks far too gauche in pumps for that.

Instead, he kisses Derek a quick good-bye before picking his kids up at Sunday school. They’re colouring arks, and fight him on going, but the promise of a treat, just the three of them, eventually persuades them to put down the crayons. He’s still not sure how he feels about the kids being indoctrinated into a religion he’s not really a part of, but he’s sunk himself in too deep now, and anyway, if he’s going to keep doing this, he needs the childcare. It’d be a lot more urgent if the kids seemed to pick up any actual lessons about religion other than some uncomfortable songs about Jesus’ love, but he guesses they’re a little too young to be decorating their own soapboxes. Besides, there are definitely worse things the tykes could be doing.                

Any mention of Sunday school, though, is quickly forgotten after Stiles herds the kids into the car, their next destination stalled until he finishes doing up the buckles on Scott’s car-seat. It’s an affair that takes longer than it should, thanks to Scott’s newfound want for independence ever since Allison learned how to click the clasps in place on her own. But the little guy’s no match for the infernal four-strap system on his seat, so Stiles has to reach back and do it for him, placating him as he goes.

 “There we go. Don’t worry, cookie monster, you’ll get it soon, okay?” he checks in with Scott, holding up a tentative thumb in the air. Behind him, Erica leads her son towards her Honda, her eyes gliding into Stiles’ vehicle and locking with his, even from a distance. Scott nods and returns the thumbs-up gesture, sniffling a little, and Stiles takes the opportunity to turn back around with a shiver. Other than an awkward apology, Erica’s hardly said two words to him since that second Sunday, though Scott, Allison, and Isaac have become fairly friendly and often organized games together on the playground. It’s all well and good for Stiles, but there’s still an obvious, unattended tension between he and Erica, and it makes Stiles nervous now, when he’s in such a potentially vulnerable position.

Backing out, Stiles glances into his overhead mirror, his stomach churning when he sees Erica again, still watching his car.

Only this time, she’s talking on the phone.

 _She’s probably not talking to Kate, she’s probably not talking to Kate_ , _Erica’s harmless at worst and has no reason to want to hurt you or the kids, you have nothing to worry about, she’s probably not…_ Stiles licks his lips nervously. He’s being paranoid, that he knows, but nonetheless, he checks the rearview mirror more than he needs to while driving away, long after the church is out of sight.

           

Out of all the places in the neighbourhood to take his kids, the Brush Off is by far Stiles’ favourite. A small pottery barn on the edge of the suburbs, it’s a haven of acrylic paint and row upon row of ten-dollar ceramic figurines, nestled in a sleepy minor-road plaza where people from Stiles’ day-to-day life rarely tread. The staff there is quiet, aloof, even, so his family an be to themselves to paint all day, which they often wind up doing, so much so that tiny, clumsily-painted statues forms the main décor in Stiles’ house. It’s like trophies, for Stiles; a yellow-speckled puppy for the time the twins’ team won their soccer tourney, a big Cinderella the year they drove up to Disneyland. A new obstacle, a new milestone, a new set of statues to keep and commemorate with.

Stiles starts this particular trip like any other. Recognizing the route, the kids know where they’re going long before he says anything, and count down the landmarks as the car moves along (“there’s the old ghost house! There’s the Finnish bank! We’re just the nice garden and the mini-mall away from it!”). Stiles has to admit, he’s paying attention to the count—after all, this is an important trip for him, and he’s both excited and nervous.

They make it inside, pick their statues, and sit down before Stiles breaks the news.

 “So,” he begins cautiously, “How was Sunday school today, guys?”

 “Boring,” Allison rolls her eyes as she reaches over the table to grab a tube of brown paint. “Before we did the crafts, Mrs Deaton made us watch a dumb movie about Noah and I almost fell asleep, but didn’t because I didn’t want Mrs Deaton’s feelings to get hurt. She seemed to really like the movie.”

 “I liked it!” Scott cuts in, “I thought it was cool how he put the cheetahs and the lions and the antelope and they didn’t even eat each other. How come he didn’t put any dinosaurs on, though, daddy? Didn’t God like the dinosaurs?”

Stiles’ eyes widen, and he tries his best not to panic. “First of all, Allison, don’t say ‘dumb,’ it’s mean. And… Um… No, Scott, he did, but a meteor took them out first.”

 “Did God send the meteor?”

 “Yes,” Stiles lies, screaming internally. “God sent the meteor to make the dinosaurs extinct so he could make room for Adam and Eve and the other humans, who were called cave-people at the time, because otherwise the dinosaurs would eat them because that’s just what dinosaurs do. This is called evolution and it’s definitely in the Bible somewhere. Just don’t tell people I told you that because that’s _very advanced_ and I wouldn’t want Mrs Deaton to think she needs to put you in with the teenagers!”

Unfortunately, this doesn’t put off the twins, who babble with other questions at a rapid pace, Stiles’ initial conversation officially derailed.

 “How come God didn’t just tell the dinosaurs not to eat the humans?”

 “Yeah! Or make them all herbamores?”

 “Or really really tiny so that even if a t-rex tried to bite someone, it would only feel like a mosquito on their ankle?”

 “Shhhh!” Stiles brings a paint-stained finger to his lips, allowing the kids to forget the conversation in peals of laughter at the blue mark the gesture leaves behind. “First of all, it’s pronounced ‘herbivores’. Second, these are _advanced_ topics, remember, guys? You’ll know the answers when you’re older.

 “In any case,” wiping his mouth, he turns the conversation before Scott or Allison can start up again, “Grown-up church had a really interesting lesson today, too. Derek made an announcement, actually, and I wanted to share it with you kids. You know Derek, right?”

Allison rolls her eyes. “Duh. He’s always at our house!”

 “And you don’t mind that? You like Derek, or you don’t like him?”

 “I like him!” Scott pipes up, excitedly banging his Mickey Mouse statue on the table so that it almost breaks. Stiles winces and reaches over to steady the figurine while Scott continues, “He plays fun games with us and he’s really nice.”

 “Yeah,” Allison nods in agreement, “I like him, too.”

 “Well, that’s good to hear, because the announcement was about him and me. You guys don’t remember your mom, right?”

 “No.” the kids answer in unison, and Stiles nearly chokes at the suspicious looks the question earns.

 “Well the thing is, your mom and I met and really liked each other, so we started to date, so we kissed and held hands and spent a lot of time together.”

 “Like you and Tiffany and Marcia and Robert did before?” Allison queries. Stiles swallows hard.

 “No,” he laughs, “Well, actually, sort of. I did date Tiffany, Marcia, and Robert, too. Only your mom was a little bit different, because we spent a lot more time together and were a lot more public, which means people saw us together more.”

“Are you dating Derek like you dated mom?” Scott doesn’t look up from his paints, focusing intently on colouring in Mickey Mouse’s shorts.

“Yeah, exactly.” Stiles looks over at Scott with surprise; he hadn’t expected his kids to be the ones who let the cat out of the bag, and wasn’t sure how to move forward now that everything seemed to be explained so simply. His worries are almost immediately solved, though, by a stream of questions.

“Does that mean that Derek is going to come live with us?”

“Are you marrying him?”

“Do we have to call him daddy, too?”

“Will I have to share my toys? because I don’t want to.”

“Are you going to have less time for us?”

“Okay, okay, rugrats, slooow down!” Stiles holds up a hand. “Derek and I have only just started dating, which means we’re still getting to know each other. It’ll be a while yet before we even talk about living together, so no. And usually grown-ups talk about moving in together when they think marriage is going to happen. Even though I like Derek very much, I don’t know if Derek and I will get married, or if we do decide we want to, when that will happen. It’s too soon to tell. Which means that no, no one’s going to share their toys.”

“Well how long will it take to tell?” Scott asks. Stiles shakes his head.

“I don’t know, buddy. Maybe months, maybe years, maybe never. These things are hard and you can’t ever really know for sure. But I also what to let you and your sister know, you two are my top family for ever and always. So Derek isn’t going to replace you, and you don’t have to fight with him for my love and attention. I love you guys more than anything in the world, okay? So I’m always going to make time for you.”

The kids are quiet for a while, intent in their painting, and Stiles almost thinks that’s the end of the matter. Then Allison pipes up with the last question Stiles ever wanted to hear.

“So what about mommy?” her voice is plain, but curious, without any trace of pain. It would be—the twins are far too young to remember their mother, so in their own way, the question’s just how they show concern for Stiles. Still, it’s a thought that always hits him in the chest, no matter how much he thinks about it on his own.

But it’s time to move on, now, and Stiles needs to accept that.

 “Your mom’ll always hold a special place in my heart,” Stiles begins. He wants to stare at his hands, his figurine, anything but his kids, but forces himself to keep looking them in the eyes as he continues, “Derek isn’t replacing her, either. My heart is just growing a new space for him right now, like it grew two new spaces when you and Scott were born, Allison.”

 “Well, I don’t see why we can’t share!” Scott enthuses, and Allison muses her agreement.

“That’s what I like to hear,” Stiles praises, beaming with pride as the kids grin back, warm and excited. “Say, you guys almost done your statues? I think mine’s about ready to go in the kiln.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> once again apologize for the unbeta'd-ness of this chapter. It would've been a while more if I waited for my beta on this one, so I unfortunately had to make an executive decision. 
> 
> Unfortunately because life/school is gross and takes up far too much time on both the parts of myself and my beta right now, updates will come a little farther apart now while we edit the last few chapters, as most of them are going to get quite plot-heavy from here on out. I apologize for that.
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me!


	12. Can't Take my Mind Off You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek invites Stiles to a Very Important Event, and the thought of his boyfriend in a suit is a little too much for Stiles to handle...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sexual content in this chapter, not with Derek involved.

“Derek?” Stiles perks up when he hears the receiver click on the other end of the line.

 “You were perhaps expecting the pope?” comes Derek’s sardonic reply, no trace of a _hello_. Behind him, Stiles hears the sound of Laura booing at the joke, and both he and Derek laugh.

 “So I just got back from a day with the kids about an hour ago,” Stiles settles, still smiling to himself. “I told them about you and I.”

 “Awesome!” Derek’s reply is immediate, enthusiastic. “Hey, Laura,” he calls, “Did you hear that? I’m kid-official now.” There’s a smatter of clapping in the background as Derek turns back to Stiles. “So how’d it go? Any issues?”

“Nah.” Stiles shakes his head, “They like you a lot, and I think it helps that you’ve been in their life so presently since we met you. They had some questions, and I think they’ll probably ask you some next time you see them, but yeah. They seemed pretty excited about it. They even painted you a little thing—I can give it to you next time you see them.”

“That’s great, I’m so glad, that’s really, really great.” Derek’s voice is warm, but sobers quickly as he changes the subject, “Oh, that reminds me—I got an invitation for the presbytery’s annual Summer Banquet in the mail today. June 21st.”

“Huh,” Stiles raises his eyebrows, “So what is it, exactly?”

“It’s this big function for all the clergy in the city, probably the biggest non-business one we have all year. Really important for networking and all that jazz. And I was wondering…” he stops, huffs out a curt breath, and begins again, “I was wondering if you wanted to be my plus one?”

Stiles licks his lips. “Is Kate going to be there?”

 “Most definitely. But we don’t have to run into her, and even if we do, she’ll be on her best behaviour. It’s too big an occasion _not_ to be. So we don’t have to worry.

“Besides,” Derek coughs, “People know by now not to put her and I at the same table.”

Stiles snorts, a sudden rush of affection and excitement rising in his chest. “Well, I’d be happy to go with you.”

There’s a pause, then something unintelligible from the other line, but it’s not being said to Stiles. _No shit, he said yes!_ Laura calls from the background, and Stiles guesses that Derek had flashed her a thumbs up. He grins, picturing the silly, overjoyed smile on Derek’s face.

“Your sister knows I can hear her, right?”

“I don’t think she cares.” Derek snorts.

“Probably not. You’re both ridiculous, you know that?”

“You like me anyway and you know it,” Derek teases.

 “Um, slander.” Stiles jokes, but at the back of his mind he can’t help but wonder why Derek chose the word ‘like’ at this point in the game, or why he can’t bring himself to correct it.

Or maybe he’s just a little too much.

 “Hah! Believe whatever you want, honey,” Derek snorts, jerking Stiles out of his brief self-pity fit, “Anyway, I need to get going, Laura and I are gonna see a movie and she’s very specific about where she likes to sit.”

As if on cue, there’s a knock on the den door.

 “Oh, I should get going, too. I think the kids need help with their homework. Have fun, Der!” he muses quickly.

 “Bye.” Derek says plainly.

 “Bye.” Stiles returns in the same way, letting the unsaid hang, obvious and intrusive, in the silence.

But then again, Stiles can hardly blame Derek for the sudden weight of the air.

Which means that even as he corrects Allison’s halting sounding out of ‘cat,’ he’s thinking about his conversation with Derek.

Specifically, the thought of Derek in a suit, of being Derek’s arm-candy for a night. It’s definitely silly, but Stiles can’t help but get caught up in the fantasy. After all, Derek wants to show Stiles off to the most important people in his professional circle, and the magnitude of that admittedly makes Stiles dizzy with happiness. Maybe, he thinks, there’ll be dancing—and maybe Derek is great, or maybe he’ll step on Stiles’ toes and Stiles will have to kiss him a million times to reassure him it’ll be okay. There’ll definitely be at least some champagne, since it _is_ a special occasion. And maybe Derek’ll get a little bit tipsy, not unprofessionally so but just loose enough to really let his wit rip so they can snidely comment on people’s clothes or speeches together.

And then Stiles’ mind wanders to after the banquet, when it’s too late for Stiles to go home and Derek’s place is much closer, anyway. And maybe they’re both a little hopped up on partying, so they don’t really mind when Derek doesn’t have a pull-out for Stiles to sleep on. And maybe they’ll kiss goodnight, and it’ll get intense. And maybe then Derek will finally find the temptation, the feeling of Stiles’ teeth on his neck and hands on his ass, completely unbearable, painful enough to cast any rules or values aside and—

Scooping Allison up, he quickly puts her back on the couch a few inches away from himself. He can hardly get out an excuse before he speeds out of the room, retreating to the safety of his bedroom with a hand already undoing his belt before he’s so much as closed the door.

It takes him approximately three seconds to get his swelling dick out and into the palm of his hand, and he’s so distracted he can’t even move to his bed from there—instead, he stands slack against the door, his energy completely devoted to keeping his breath low and quiet while he wraps his fingers around the length of his cock, thumbs cautiously working on the tip. It’s been way too long since he’s last found the time to do this, or the motivation, and Stiles wants to make sure he does it properly. So as much as he’d love to just jerk it out fast and rough, he forces himself to take it slowly, teasing out a bead of pre-come before he starts long, loose strokes along his shaft, gradually tightening his grip, images of Derek burning in his mind, spreading heat through his entire body.

If he closes his eyes, Stiles can almost believe it’s Derek’s hand on his cock, Derek’s tongue flicking instead of Stiles’ thumb spreading wetness around. Stiles twists his hand slightly, bringing some of his skin with it, and moans breathlessly against the gesture, hips bucking involuntarily. But the air next to him is cold and empty, and Stiles quickly retreats himself back a few centimeters, back with his ass against the door as he feels himself getting closer. He quickens his pace, going in short, curt strokes and making himself ache before he pulls back, once again travelling the full length of his cock. There’s an urgency to his movements this time, though, and he’s not sure how long he can hold off. Realizing how tense he is, he peels himself off the door and stumble to his bed, fingers still moving gingerly as he goes.

He wonders how it would feel to have Derek carry him over, smack him down on the mattress hard. Would Derek be kinky, he wonders, or would that be a sin for him?

 _Focus,_ _Stilinski_. He picks up the pace again, flopping down desperately onto the bed’s surface, erection standing straight up in the air. If he closes his eyes, he can just see Derek positioning himself over it, getting ready to ride it.

 _Fuck_. Would that count as bottoming or topping? What would Derek think? Or would he be one of those postmodern queers who thought the distinction was pointless nowadays?

Does he think this much, this technically about fucking Stiles?

 _Yes_ , Stiles smiles to himself, his body stiffening and legs stretching out in pleasure. Quickening even more, allowing himself to go in loose, sloppy strokes, Stiles entertains the thought of Derek thinking about sex, even if none of it’s true (hey, they’re _Stiles’_ fantasies, right?). Maybe Derek struggles with celibacy. Maybe it gets so hard, some nights, that Derek has to sleep with his hands under his pillow, otherwise who knows what he’ll do. Maybe Derek tries to block it out, but ever since meeting Stiles, he finds thoughts (among other things) creeping up on him when it’s least convenient. Stiles moans and brings his other hand to his nipple.

Maybe when he and Derek finally have sex, Derek’ll be a complete power-bottom. Maybe he’ll be a bit of a beggar, whining for more of  Stiles until he leans down and cuts off the complaining with a kiss.

Stiles is almost embarrassed at the noise that comes out of him when he comes. He rides out his orgasm almost languidly, a wave of relaxation and contentment washing over him and replacing tension with milky fatigue. He stays for a minute, hand resting on his crotch, savouring the last bits of post-coital bliss (well, almost) before he looks down at the mess he’s made, grimacing at the sheer amount of cleanup he’s going to have to do.

And how he’s going to get all his sheets down to the laundry certainly beats him. Fortunately, though, he doesn’t have a lot of time to think about it before the sounds of shrieking children pull his attention away.

“ _Allison! Scott!_ ” he pushes soaked bedsheets aside, gunning for the door, “Get off each other! And I better see finished math when I get down there!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was again unfortunately unbeta'd (that's why there was such a long sorta unofficial hiatus before it, but life's life, unfortunately :s), but hopefully y'all like it!


	13. Suit Yourself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles & Derek go to get fitted for the banquet, and Stiles learns a thing or two about judging people too soon in the process, making amends with a few people along the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHOA IT'S BEEN A LONG TIME!
> 
> Sorry about the super long hiatus, y'all. School got really busy and I started sorting out discernment for ministry within my church. But I'm back! For real this time!
> 
> Thanks for bearing with me, I hope you enjoy!
> 
> (Also, the rest of the fic did not have a beta, unfortunately, so disclaimer there)

In the weeks leading up to the banquet, Stiles hears precious little from Kate Argent. At first, the sudden silence is terrifying, and Stiles finds himself watching his back at the supermarket, taking the long route to soccer, having the kids carpool as much as he can. But after a while, he becomes comfortable with things going back to the way they used to be. He’s not convinced this is the end of Kate’s harassment—in fact, he’s almost completely sure she’s got something planned for the banquet, a sentiment Derek tensely echoes—but hey, he figures, at least he’ll have a little bit of calm to prepare for the storm.

Before preparation, though, it’s time for father’s day.

In the Stilinski household, father’s days have always been a grand affair. Even before Scott and Allison came along, Stiles and Heather used to make a bit of a deal of it, Heather with her wry smile saying future fathers were part of the day, too. And once the kids came, they’d had one father’s day as a family, starting with Heather rolling over with bags under her eyes and telling Stiles if he wanted breakfast in bed, he’d have to get in line. Of course, they never had a chance to turn anything into tradition—but Stiles and the twins made due, and they made new habits, new ways of celebrating.

He takes the day off this year, turning off his alarm and forgoing the idea of church to spend time with his kids instead. The rugrats make him breakfast in bed—orange juice and a lone piece of peanut-butter toast (“we made you moatmeal too but Scott spilled it on the stairs!”)—and after cleaning up the staircase and a morning of old cartoons, all three of them hustle over to Stiles’ dad’s place for lunch.

“How are my favourite grandkids?” Stiles’ dad, obviously having been waiting for them on his porch, rockets up when they pull into his driveway, launching himself down the stairs to greet everyone as they get out of the car.

“Wow, no ‘favourite son’? Rude,” Stiles quips with a teasing smile, but he hangs back while his dad hugs the kids, lifting them both up off the ground and fielding shrieks of terror and delight as he swings them around, feet flailing in the air.

“My favourite son wouldn’t call my doctor to ask about my insulin levels behind my back,” his dad sniffs. Stiles rolls his eyes.

“All right, all right. Let’s not start this now, dad.”

“Eh, it’s father’s day so I’ll let it go. Besides, I have cake in the kitchen.” his father leads them inside with a wry smile, mentions of dessert inspiring chants of “CAKE! CAKE! CAKE!” from Scott and Allison. Stiles sighs, but lets them stomp around, watching with amusement. After all, they’re not hurting anyone, and he knows the drill: Grandpa’s place is where you can have as loud fun as you want. So he and his dad crack open a couple of beers and watch the twins play, easy, catch-up conversation floating between them all the while. Derek comes up once or twice, but their talk quickly flows onto the next topic, and so on, so forth, until the kids tire themselves out and the whole family’s on the couch, the kids dozing on their laps while Stiles and his dad settle down with a football game. Stiles remembers how in high school, his father got incredibly excited about carrying on his legacy, pumping Stiles full of field-stories about the glory days training for big games. Looking back on it, Stiles had probably utterly broken the poor man’s heart when he joined lacrosse instead of football, and then proceeded to spend most of his playing time on the bench, but the great thing about his dad was that from the way he attended every single game, dog-eared copy of _Lacrosse for Dummies_ in hand, and chatted excitedly about every play over burgers after each match, Stiles would never have noticed.

Looking back on it, Stiles often went a direction his father wasn’t sure how to deal with—but his father had always pulled through, always slapped on a smile and decided if Stiles was happy, he was going to be happy, too.

“Hey, dad?” Stiles shifts on the couch to lean his head on his father’s shoulder, Scott stirring on his legs at the movement.

“What’s up, buddy?”

“I just wanted to say thanks,” Stiles coughs. “For being so supportive. And, you know. Sticking with me. Through everything.”

“No problem, kiddo,” His dad shrugs, his hand leaving Allison’s hair to pat Stiles affectionately on the shoulder. “Just doing my job.”

 

About three days before the banquet, the last day of school before his kids start summer vacation, Stiles takes the day off to go suit-shopping with Derek. Stiles had brought Lydia in tow, and Derek his sister, though Stiles is surprised to find a woman other than Laura running over to greet he and Lydia at the store door.

“Stiles? Are you Stiles?” the woman smiles broadly, grabbing his hand and shaking it profusely before he can confirm or deny the question. “I’m Cora, Derek’s sister. I’ve heard so much about you! Oh, it’s _so_ good to finally meet you,” she gushes, still shaking Stiles’ hand. For a moment, it seems like Cora wants to say more, but her wild, wide-eyed gaze suddenly turns to Lydia, prompting her to drop Stiles’ hand and smooth herself down lightly, turning a warm smile to the other woman.

“Hi, I’m Cora,” she repeats, this time a little calmer, more meaningfully. “Are you a friend of Stiles’?”

Lydia blushes—like actually, seriously _blushes_ and averts her eyes to the ground, which is more than Stiles could have ever asked from whatever God is _surely_ watching over him at this point—and nods. “Lydia Martin,” she cracks an uneasy smile, “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Mm.” Cora looks Lydia up and down with a playful smirk, deliberately refraining from an enthusiastic handshake like she’d treated Stiles to. “Anyway, sorry, enough intros,” she shakes her head, “Derek’s just around the corner.” Cora waves them into the shop, leaving Stiles to push an apparently suddenly-immobilized Lydia behind her.

“Oh, I can’t _wait_ to talk about this,” he snickers in her ear with relish.

Lydia, with a surprisingly accurate reach and aim, punches him in the crotch without so much as a glance behind herself or falter in her step.

Yet another surprise is waiting for Stiles when he, Lydia, and Cora round the corner of the shop into a small viewing-room furnished with old leather couches, at least a dozen suits hanging from the walls, and the surly form of Erica Reyes standing next to Derek armed with a measuring tape and three pins in her mouth.

“Mm,” she raises her eyebrows at the trio in greeting, eyes settling on Stiles for a little too long before she looks away, gingerly taking the pins out of her mouth and jabbing them into a waiting cushion. “Gang’s all here,” she drawls, looking Stiles and the others over once again. Cora and Lydia muse a lighthearted greeting to the seamstress before settling down on one of the couches, Cora’s hand suspiciously grazing Lydia’s thigh despite the space between them. Stiles resists the urge to hoot with laughter when Lydia awkwardly shifts a little closer, still not making eye contact with Cora. He looks over at Derek, who seems to have gone a little pale, and realizes with a jolt that the feisty woman is probably his youngest sister.

“So,” Erica taps Stiles on the shoulder, pulling him away from his cross-examination of the situation unfolding, “Quick kiss to the boyfriend, then why don’t you and he switch places so I can take your measurements?” Stiles must seem flustered, because Erica rolls her eyes and gives him a gentle push. “Come on, loverboy,” she smirks, but the gesture has no malice, “Haven’t got all day, if we all wanna pick our kids up on time.”

Still taken aback by seeing Erica interact with him comfortably, even easily, as if nothing had ever happened between them, Stiles stumbles his way up to where Derek is standing and kisses him quickly before taking his place, unsure where to look.

“Can I just say, there’s a lot going on in this dressing room right now,” he stammers. Erica shrugs.

“You gotta roll with the punches.” her eyes narrow as she focuses on summing up Stiles’ body. He shrinks away from her gaze, hard and scrutinizing, only to get a sharp smack to his back. “Stand up straight!” Erica scolds, “Unless you want me to sew in a hunchback tailored to your spine.”

Stiles looks over helplessly at Derek, who has promptly taken the time to wedge himself in-between Lydia and a pouty-looking Cora, but Derek just gives him a _what-can-I-do_ look, opting to allow Erica to begin pinching Stiles with her measuring tape pulled tightly over his waist while he watches with a bemused look on his face.

Stiles is _so_ gonna get him back for this later.

“Okay, I got a good idea of what suits’ll look good on you both,” Erica relaxes the measuring tape after taking similarly painful turns on Stiles’ arms, legs, hips, and neck. “You two didn’t want to match, did you?” she wrinkles her nose a little bit.

Stiles says nothing. Derek looks at the ceiling, suddenly very interested in counting the dots on its tile.

“Scratch that,” she rolls her eyes, but smiles despite herself, “You two lovebirds have a seat, I know exactly what you need.”

She’s gone for about two seconds when Stiles turns to Derek, exasperated and betrayed and frustrated all at once.

“Mind telling me what’s going on?” he hisses, crossing his arms sternly over his chest. Derek rolls his eyes.

“Seriously, Stiles, you need to forgive, forget, and move on. Erica was gracious enough to offer us our suits over half off.”

“Friends and family discount?” Lydia cuts in, eyebrows raised. “Dude,” she turns to Stiles, “You know those are legendary, right? Erica only offers discounts to people she _really_ likes. And she’s the best tailor in the neighbourhood, check her Yelp reviews.”

Stiles is about to pull out his phone to do just that when a freezingly cold look from Derek stops him, hand already halfway to his pocket.

“She’s trying to move on and make an effort to get to know you,” Derek’s voice is slow and scolding, and Stiles feels himself shrink as he enunciates, “Isn’t it time you tried to do the same?”

“I think I know everything there is to know about Erica already,” Stiles sniffs with more bravado than he feels.

“You know, you thought that about me a couple months ago.”

Everyone in the room turns to look at Lydia, who suddenly looks small in the room, hunched up and pale against the dark skin of the couch. “Aren’t I more than you wrote me off as?” she looks up at Stiles, her eyes hard but searching at the same time, her voice even. “Erica’s throwing you a line, and that’s a very, very rare thing. I suggest you take it—if she sees something worthwhile in you, I guarantee you’ll find the same.”

“ _Bam_ ,” Cora mutters under her breath.

“If we’re done psychoanalyzing me and my apparent yet still somehow non-existent infatuation with Scrappy Doo over here, can the two Princes deign themselves to go try these on?” the entire room jumps at Erica’s voice, and they turn to see her leaning in the doorway with suits in hand. For a moment, Stiles is worried he’s done more damage, but behind the indignation on her face there’s an air of amusement, easiness that Stiles has never seen from the woman before. He flushes deeply red at the thought that he might have been proven wrong so quickly, never mind just how much of the conversation Erica might have actually seen or heard.

“Yeah, just so you know, I hear everything.” Erica smirks as Stiles walks past her into the dressing room, grabbing the suit from her arms as he goes. He rolls his eyes, but something inside him cracks as he hears her snicker to herself, and he finds himself smiling as he closes the latch on the dressing-room door, the reassuring sound of Derek’s door closing in turn seconds behind him.


	14. Keeping Up the Jig

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night of banquet arrives, and despite Stiles' best efforts to fit in among people of the cloth, Kate closes in and starts to figure Stiles out.

“You look amazing.” Derek wraps his arms around Stiles from behind, and Stiles almost misses his grin in the mirror as he concentrates on straightening his tie, tongue poking out from the corner of his mouth.

“You’ve been telling me that every day since we _got_ these.” Stiles, finally satisfied with his work, puts down his arms and takes a step back, relaxing into Derek’s embrace. Derek gives him a coy kiss on the cheek.

“I know,” he muses, “But I can’t help _not_ tell you.”

“Charming bastard,” Stiles teases. At the same time, though, he can’t deny it; standing in the mirror, both dressed and ready to go, both of them looked cleanly pressed and professional in matching gray suits and silky black ties. He had to admit; Erica had pulled through.

“So,” Derek turns Stiles around to face him, “You nervous about tonight?”

Stiles gives a short, dry laugh, and Derek gives him a sympathetic look. It’s finally the night of the banquet, and, truth be told, Stiles is terrified. Derek has a lot at stake, and the last thing Stiles wants to be is the rock that drags him down. But despite preparing all week by looking up manners and etiquette, grilling Laura for networking tips, and even looking up common prayers in case they were featured over the course of the evening, Stiles still feels shaky and uncertain of himself.

It’s enough to make anyone feel like they might crack, and the fact that Derek seems to non-verbally just understand this doesn’t make it any easier.

“You, um… You look amazing too, you know,” Stiles changes the subject before Derek, who’s been worriedly searching Stiles’ face for signs of distress, can blurt out any comfort. “I mean, you always do, but _jeez_ ,” he breathes, separating from Derek to look him up and down approvingly. “I didn’t think it was even possible for you to clean up any nicer, and you have _seriously_ surpassed that expectation. Like, I don’t know how I’m gonna focus throughout this dinner.”

“That makes two of us,” Derek chuckles, leaning down for a kiss. “Come on, we should get going. We don’t want to be late.”

“No,” Stiles sighs, taking hold of Derek’s hand as they walk out of Derek’s bedroom together, “We couldn’t have that.”

 

Derek gives Stiles’ hand a squeeze. “I promise, everything’s going to be okay.”

The very first thing Stiles notices when they get to the Presbytery’s designated banquet hall is the giant, neon-lit crucifix alerting the highway to the Bread & Wine Christian Dining & Entertainment Hall’s presence. Heck, it would be hard _not_ to notice, and even Derek looks a little weirded out by the gaudiness of the venue as they enter, passing through stained-glass-lined halls until they finally get to a large set of double-doors framed by crucifix-shaped knobs towards the back.

“This is, um, nice,” Stiles tries.

“It looks like some kind of parody,” Derek balks. “Honestly, I’m surprised. Usually the setting for this event’s a little more… Subtle?”

“Well, personally, I like it.” both Stiles and Derek stiffen at the sound of Kate’s voice behind them, Stiles’ hand instinctively flying to Derek’s and squeezing tight. “Although, Derek, I have to say, for someone who supposedly values subtlety… Well, right now even your little _partner_ must be seeing the irony in that.” she laughs bitingly. For a moment, Derek looks as if he’s going to turn around and answer her, the tips his ears flushing red; Stiles gives Derek’s hand another prohibitive pulse, his knuckles shifting under the pressure, and shakes his head.

_She’s not worth our time._

He can feel the annoyance radiating off of Kate as they go into the party, leaving her fuming in the entryway behind them.

           

The rest of the evening passes without much trouble, Stiles’ nerves melting within five minutes of his first round of introductions. From the looks of it, most of the clergy in attendance belong to an older, eccentric crowd, and Stiles is soon comforted by the fact that his biggest worry so far seems to be making sure he can understand his conversational partners under the flapping of oversized dentures. Conversation varies from intellectual to conspiratorial across wildly different topics, some religious and some scientific, some profound and some inane and Stiles quickly realizes that the United church itself is a mixed bag of individuals, and even its Best and Finest are no exception. Even so, Stiles somehow seems to be getting on extraordinarily well with _all_ of Derek’s colleagues, and Derek himself looks pleased as punch, if not a little taken aback by the sudden realization that when he wants to, his boyfriend _can_ actually stop being an assumptive, clowny ass for five seconds.

It’s a nice feeling, and Stiles lets the newfound confidence chip away at his guard while they converse, staying loose and trusting until he and Derek are seated for dinner.

Unfortunately, it’s a fatal mistake, something Stiles quickly realizes when the Presbytery chair stands in front of the hall and asks everyone to stand as they’re able and bow their heads to say grace.

Stiles read all about this on the internet; they’re supposed to join hands and all speak in unison.

Except when he goes to grab Derek’s hand, Derek just shoots him a dirty look and mouths the words, _not now_.

And then when he starts to echo the moderator’s voice, he realizes that not only is he the only one doing so, but that the words he’s saying are actually completely different.

The others at the table, miraculously, either don’t seem to notice Stiles’ gaffes, or are just so tactful that they’re good at ignoring them. Either way, it makes Stiles feel considerably less solid, so that even when he realizes which call-and-response prayer the room is reciting, he trips over words and loses his place, instead finding himself mumbling along with the ends of phrases like Mr Bean singing Hallelujah. And really, really, it’s not such a big deal, except Stiles his making a fool of himself, and he’s embarrassing Derek, and the prayer just _won’t end_ , and Kate is staring at him from across the room, and…

 _Holy shit_. Stiles’ mouth clamps shut, his blood running cold as he does a double-take, this time definitely catching Kate’s eye from across the room.  For a moment, she looks thoughtful, confused, even, before a slow, menacing grin spreads across her face and Stiles suddenly feels lightheaded.

She knows. And it’s only a matter of time before she tells Derek.


	15. The Jig is Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kate's scheme finally comes together, which means that Stiles' own plans fall rapidly apart.

Stiles spends the rest of the night hounding Derek, speeding him away from Kate every time he notices her about to make a beeline and darting from person to person for eclectic, jumpy conversation. He hardly eats dinner, barely picking at his potatoes before proclaiming he needs to go to the bathroom and hiding there, hoping to collect himself, until he hears soft music starting up again and the scraping of chairs as people rise away from their tables. Upon his return, Stiles tries to play his nerves off in a subtle way, but Derek catches wind of the change in mood quickly, and pulls Derek aside to ask if anything’s wrong.

“I’m fine,” Stiles curses himself inwardly as the words come out as snaps, “Just, can we not be in this bathroom right now? We really need to be in the ballroom right now. We have to make sure—“

“Make sure _what_ , Stiles? I promise I want to help you, but I need to know what’s going on first.”

“Look, I’m just… I’m just a little tired, okay? And it’s late, so I’m worried about the kids, so…”

“You want to get home.” Derek nods, “Okay, let’s go, then. Do you feel up to going back in to say goodbye to people, or do you just want to get going?”

Stiles bounces on his feet for a moment, confliction causing a bubble of anxiety to fill his chest and stomach. On the one hand, home was safe. On the other, at this very moment Kate could be telling everyone in the ballroom about his lying.

Either way, there was no way he was getting out of this situation. So he supposed the only way to get out was to dive in; as much as he hated to think about it, Stiles had no option but to either tell Derek or let the secret be spilled otherwise. And there was no _way_ he was going to give Kate that kind of satisfaction.

“Derek, sorry, before we do anything, there’s something I have to—“ Stiles begins, but the hum of an automatically-opening door interrupts him, his mouth instinctively clamping shut at the noise.

“Well, there’s the couple of the hour!” a raspy voice suddenly drawls, and Bobby Finstock, one of the Presbytery’s more enthusiastic, coach-like pastors wheels into the room with a grin on his face. “Say, boys, you going to be around for a while? I know I picked your brains about same-sex relationships before dinner, but I had _no idea_ you were a multi-faith couple, too!”

 _Goddammit_ , Stiles thinks, _that bitch works_ fast _._

“We’re not…” Derek frowns, looking at Stiles. Stiles freezes.

“Well, isn’t your boy there an atheist?” Finstock runs his mouth further, and Stiles wishes the floorboards would open up and just take him and the old coot to Hell already.

“No, Stiles is Christian.” Derek shakes his head, still preciously unconvinced. “Where did you hear otherwise?”

“Well, from Reverent Argent. She said Stiles mentioned it while talking to her earlier this evening. Called it really something.”

“Oh, it’s really something, all right,” Derek begins, growling. “Why don’t you tell Kate to—“

“Derek, wait.” Stiles takes a deep breath, squeezing his eyes shut as he speaks, bringing a hand forward to lay on Derek’s chest. “Can I… Can I talk to you outside?” he shoots a glance over at Finstock, hoping the hint was subtle, but apparently he’s not allowed to have any nice things because the man whistles and wheels himself out of the way wordlessly, gesturing for them to go.

“I’ll let you two work it out,” he chuckles smugly.

Derek doesn’t talk when they get outside, way past the banquet room and to a vacated, extra space where no party-goers or sabotaging exes can have the satisfaction of hearing them. Derek doesn’t even look at Stiles while they settle and sober up, which tells Stiles that Derek already knows exactly what he’s about to say.

“I was planning on telling you—“ Stiles starts anyway, but Derek just holds up a hand.

“So Kate… What she’s probably telling anyone who’ll listen right now… That’s true?”

“Derek…”

“Why does _Kate_ know before me? Did you tell her? Why?” Derek looks at Stiles suddenly, his voice vicious, eyes clouded with suspicion, hurt, and confusion. “Was this some… Some kind of plan of hers? Did you know this was going to happen?”

“No!” the objection comes out louder than Stiles expected, and he looks around himself apologetically before continuing, quieter, “I didn’t plan any of this, I swear. Well, except the pretending parts. I planned that, but only because I knew you were a pastor and I thought there was no way you could like me if I wasn’t Christian, too.”

Derek’s head jerks back at the revelation, and his lip curls down disapprovingly. “You think I care one stinking second about that?” he crosses his hands in front of his chest angrily. “Stiles, I couldn’t care _less_ about your beliefs. I’m in love with _you_ , plain and simple. I don’t even care now! It’s the fact that you _lied_ to me. How am I supposed to be with you when I can’t even trust anything you’ve said to me? You lied about your entire identity! For all I know, everything you said you felt or wanted was just a way to get with me!”

“You’re in love with me?” Stiles echoes, swallowing hard. Right there, hanging between them now, was everything Stiles had ever wanted to hear, under the exact circumstances he never wanted to face.

Suddenly, Stiles feels dizzy.

“Oh my God,” Derek’s eyes narrow, his nostrils flaring as he lets out an audible exhale, “Did you honestly never notice, or did you just care that little?”

“Derek—“ Stiles starts, but Derek cuts him off, his voice frozen and his body seeming to shrink and deflate with every word.

“Fine, if you want to hear it again, so be it. _I thought I was in love with you, Stiles_. Happy? But I’m not sure how you expect it to stay that way now, considering I don’t even know if the Stiles I fell in love with is the Stiles standing in front of me. Or to what extent the Stiles I fell in love with even actually exists.

 Stiles wants to defend himself, wants to jump in and say he did it for them, that yeah, it was misguided, but his heart was in the right place. That in a weird way, it was for Derek’s benefit, so he’d have less to adjust to. But he bites his tongue and stands without saying anything else, because he knows—Derek’s heard it all before, and from the way he’s acting now, the way his back stiffens and his eyes flit frantically about the room, lost in flashback-thought, Stiles can tell that every second he spends in front of Derek, he’s just going to become more and more of another Kate. He swallows hard, letting the realization tear him apart as he watches Derek walk away, not even a good-bye muttered between them.

“Laura?” he hears from around the corner, Derek’s voice shaking. “I… Can you please come pick me up? Like, right now? And maybe bring Cora with you.”

Stiles waits until he hears Derek’s phone ring, Laura summoning him outside, to get going near the exit himself, the judgmental glare of stained-glass doves watching him go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How will Stiles patch things up? Stay tuned, folks!


	16. Can't Handle Anything (Without Losing my Mind)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles deals with the aftermath of letting Derek down, but help comes from those he doesn't deserve, but is glad to have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title taken from 'tough guy' by cyberbully mom club

Stiles doesn’t go to church the next week, or the next, despite Scott and Allison’s protests. Instead, he spends Sunday mornings moping, staring at pictures of Derek while his coffee goes cold, leaving Derek long, emotional messages he knows will never be answered, or taking sleepless naps to stare into dark space.

He half expects there to be gloating messages from Kate waiting for him, but, content now in her destruction, she seems to have dropped off the face of the earth, leaving Stiles to wallow alone in his misery.

He’s in the middle of doing just that, pretending to nap while the kids are in front of an old _Looney Tunes_ tape for the third Sunday in a row when he rolls over in bed to face Heather’s old space, now just another foot of empty on the bed, and catches a glimpse of the wedding picture he’s kept there for old time’s sake.

 _She was beautiful,_ he remembers Derek saying once, while they were looking having lunch and looking over old family albums of Scott and Allison.

 _She was so much more than that, though,_ Stiles had said, _That’s why I loved her._

_I guess she and I had that in common._

At the time, Stiles hadn’t gotten the hint, and instead had just convinced himself that Derek meant the sentiment in smaller proportions, or was trying to be sweet without much actual substance. But now it occurs to Stiles that the only thing standing in his way at the time, probably _most_ of the time with Derek, was just that—that he just didn’t seem to get it.

“God, I’m so stupid.” Stiles grunts, half to Heather, half to the air. The picture doesn’t answer, only smiles back.

Stiles rolls over.

Back when he and Heather had met, it had been so easy. As childhood friends they’d been inseparable, until Heather’s family moved out of town when he was in the fifth or sixth grade (he can’t remember now, though he hardly thinks it matters). When Heather returned to town some time later, a few years after college when Stiles was commuting to the local university to finish his orthodontics degree and she was a qualified architect bursting to make a name for herself, Stiles was worried that she would be a completely new person. But just a few hours into a catch-up coffee date, and all those fears were quieted—she may have been taller, tanner, and with a new wardrobe, but when she laughed, it was the same high, cadenced giggling that he remembered hearing while they were climbing trees or kicking around the monkey bars at the playground.

There were no kids back then, no communities to impress or evil exes to avoid. No questions about who Stiles should be or the best way to present himself—Stiles was Stiles and Heather was Heather, and that had been enough.

“It was enough for Derek, too, you know.” Stiles turns around, staring directly at the glossy mid-2000s print of Heather’s face. “I just didn’t figure it out until it was too late. Because I am a screw up, apparently, and I lacked faith. _”_ he spits out the last bit of irony, scrunching himself up a little under the covers.

“God, Heather, I just wish there was something I could _do_.” he moans.

As if on cue, the phone rings, jerking Stiles out of his rumination. He finds himself perking up for a moment, for probably the hundredth time since Derek broke things off, his chest swelling at the sudden rush of hope that makes his heart dance a little more erratically than usual.

 _It’s not going to be Derek, it’s not going to be Derek._ But it _might_ be. And any shot at a second chance, no matter how hypothetical, is one Stiles will take.

“DADDY!” Scott yells from downstairs, “IT’S ISAAC’S MOM! SHE SAYS IT’S VERY, VERY, VERYVERYVERY IMPORTANT!”

“First of all,” Erica starts going before Stiles even lifts the phone fully off the receiver, “You are an ass.”

  “Deserved.”

“Well look who has hindsight!” Erica’s voice is animated with cynicism and contempt, and Stiles can practically _feel_ her rolling her eyes on the other end of the line. “How convenient.”

“Was there a second of all, or did you just call to scold me?”

“I swear to God, Stiles, don’t sass me right now or I myself will go over there and really show you the meaning of ripping you a new one.”

“So…?”

“So, listen up.” Erica growls, followed by a heavy sigh. “Look, the truth for a reason that I cannot possibly conceive at the moment, Derek needs you. He’s so grief-stricken over you, he’s barely functioning right now—I had to get the full story from Laura, since he’s scarcely left her apartment in weeks. In fact, I’m a little afraid he’s going to resign, which is exactly what Kate wanted.”

“About that, by the way… If we repair this, aren’t we just opening ourselves up to her more?” Stiles asks nervously. Erica’s voice goes even colder.

“Look, forget about her for a second, okay? She may forget about you, she may come right back and always be breathing down your neck, it’s not important right now. _Derek_ is. And I know just how much the church means to him—losing it’ll totally wreck him. He’s already _been_ totally wrecked. And it looks like only you can fix it. So even though you are going to work _very_ hard to make it out of my bad books right now, if Derek needs you, then I as his friend and congregant am willing to intervene for you. God knows he sees something in you, so maybe I can find out what it is and redeem it.”

“So…”

“So grab your rugrats and meet me at Lydia’s place in ten minutes, asswad, and we’ll sort this out.”

 

“Aren’t you guys supposed to be at church right now?” Stiles settles into a chair at the end of Lydia’s kitchen table, watching as she brings a saucer and coffee-cup on the spotless surface in front of him, avoiding eye contact as she daintily places what looks like a coconut macaroon on the edge of the plate before running over to sit in her spot beside Cora. Laura and Erica both sit opposite them, Laura coolly adding cream to her coffee and Erica glaring daggers into Stiles.

“Not worth going,” Erica huffs, “Some hack from Cyclone Valley is acting as pastor while Derek’s on leave, and it’s literally the worst, most migraine-inducing thing I’ve ever experienced since my first marriage. The dude literally based an _entire sermon_ off the President’s speech from _Independence Day_.”

Lydia nods. “He spits, too,” she adds with a frown.

“ _Finstock_ ,” both Cora and Stiles shudder in unison. He smiles at her, and she reluctantly returns the gesture, which is apparently a little much for Laura, who bangs her coffee back down hard on its saucer.

“Ok, enough with the pleasantries--what are we going to do about this, Stiles? How exactly do you plan on making this whole mess up to Derek?”

“You could for real convert,” Cora blurts out, raising eyebrows across the table. Stiles shakes his head.

“That’s not what Derek wants, and anyway, it wouldn’t be genuine. If I do something to win your brother back, it has to be something completely sincere, otherwise it means nothing.”

Erica nods. “It’s got to be really grand, but also understated. Otherwise it’ll just come off as cheesy.”

“Some kind of suit-clad romantic apology?” Lydia suggests.

“How are you gonna get him there, though?” Laura counters.

The five of them stop for a moment, deep in thought as the sounds of their children playing upstairs fill the background. A few more proposals get passed around, but they’re quickly shot down, and then it’s back to silence.

“We haven’t heard anything from you, yet, Stiles,” Cora points out flatly, breaking the tension in the room. “I mean, you’re the one who claims to be in love with him, right? So you’ll know better than any of us how to get his love back.”

It’s hard for Stiles to face everyone right then, but it’s probably the first time since he’s arrived at Lydia’s that he can see what everyone thinks of him, how their opinions of him might have changed or been confirmed beyond repair. It’s a lot of pressure, but Stiles knows it’s all skepticism well-deserved, and he’s prepared to face it if it means a chance to win Derek back.

If he _can_ win Derek back. Stiles swallows hard at the possibility that he’s left it too late, put himself in a spot beyond repair. He’s about to say so when he looks up again, this time finally catching Lydia’s eyes. Stiles knows she blames herself for pushing him into things the way they had gone down, and he stifles the urge to reach over and pat her hair reassuringly—it’s already being taken care of by a reluctant-looking Cora, who no doubt heard Stiles’ side of the story from Lydia a few times already and seems willing to gives him the benefit of the doubt based on that testimonial. Even with Laura and Erica, Stiles can sense that they want nothing more right now than for him to swoop in and save the day, to repair what he’s done. It doesn’t matter if it’s for his sake or Derek’s—in fact, Stiles realizes, it doesn’t matter to him, either.

What matters is that he’s done wrong to someone he loves, and now he needs to make that right.

“Hey, guys?” he perks up suddenly, a new idea rapidly developing as a hopeful grin spreads across his face. “I know what I’m going to do. What I need to do. But I’m going to need all of your help. And—and I never thought I’d say this, but here we are—I think I’m going to need the Beacon Hills choir, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just two chapters left, y'all!!! Thanks for sticking with the fic thus far!!!


	17. Preachin' Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles tries his best to make everything up to Derek. It just so happens that his plot involves hijacking a service

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning in this chapter for an excerpt from the New Testament

Stiles gets to Beacon Hills a full hour before the service that Sunday, his heart pounding in his chest as he runs up the steps to the sanctuary on wobbly ankles. He’s got thirty minutes before he’s supposed to meet up with the choir for their dress rehearsal, and his friends won’t be getting there to help him prep the rest of the magic for another fifteen (with the exception of Laura and Cora, who promised to feign helping Derek get ready in order to keep him distracted from Stiles’ presence before the service), but he can’t shake the feeling that he needs some time in the church to himself first.

It’s perhaps expected at this point that Stiles has a spiritual awakening, some kind of awkward, halting, “I never believed in you but I need you now” conversation with God that leads him to comfort, or at least he thinks that’s what supposed to happen. But when Stiles finally settles into a back pew and stares about himself, soaking in his surroundings and the weight and reminders of feelings he's supposed to be feeling right now, he doesn’t pray, or even dare to hope.

It’s not about God right now for Stiles, or even about destiny or the universe, for that matter. It’s all about Derek. This whole place, for Stiles, is about Derek. Thinking about it to himself, Stiles smiles; this place is filled with something that Derek loved enough to devote his life to. This place is Derek’s making, his hard work, his personality. The people who come are Derek's family, the choice of stained glass his artwork. Everything in this church is Derek through the years, through everything he'd endured and grown past. And now, sitting amid it all and appreciating it for what it is, Stiles feels connected to Derek in a way that he realizes he had maybe gotten too comfortable craving and enjoying.

_It wasn’t something for me to take—it was something for Derek to share._

And maybe, just maybe, that taking had added to the hurt in a way Stiles had been too willing to take for granted.

The thought lingers in his mind as he gets up and walks out of the sanctuary, ready to put his plan into action.

 

“You ready?” Stiles jumps at Lydia’s approach, nearly shouting and giving his place away. He’s hiding in the wings of the sanctuary, miraculously unseen by Derek as he half-heartedly facilitates the beginning of the service.

“Yeah,” he nods distractedly. Discouraged by Derek’s sudden streak of absence, numbers in the pews have dwindled significantly, and Stiles is filled with remorse as he realizes that the light in Derek’s eyes, the passion he used to preach with, are missing, and recede even further as the pastor notices every empty space in front of him.

“Poor guy,” Lydia continues, laying a comfortable hand on Stiles shoulder. He doesn’t bother tensing. “Well, at least we’re going to make it right.”

“You think so?” Stiles breathes, still watching Derek as he welcomes Erica to the lectern to do this week’s Bible reading, introducing it as Mark 12:28-34.

Stiles holds his breath.

“A reading,” Erica says, “From the first book of Corinthians, chapter 11.”

One of Stiles’ favourite things about Derek, he must admit, is the little vein in his forehead that pops up whenever he’s surprised or agitated. Even from his place hidden in the wings, Stiles can see that vein protruding now, further brought out by confused murmurs from the small crowd below he and Erica. Behind Stiles, Lydia giggles.

“We know in part, and we prophesy in part.

“But when that which is perfect come, then that which is in part shall be done away.

“When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things.

“For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.

“And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three: but the greatest of these charity.”

If Derek was angry before, he’s either suppressed it or gotten over it, because when Stiles glances over at his face when Erica finishes, Derek is completely calm.

“I’d like to introduce our preacher for the week,” Erica coughs and continues, her voice ringing in Stiles’ ears as his heartbeat accelerates, pounding to fill the silence of the church. “Sorry, Derek, but we actually got a bit of a last minute guest.

“Stiles?” Erica gestures towards him, and for the first time, Derek notices Stiles’ presence in the church. Stiles doesn’t miss Derek’s startle, or the way his chest rises sharply as he gasps between pursed lips before averting his gaze, fixing his eyes on carpet in front of himself.

It’s now or never. With a gulp, Stiles gingerly steps out into the sanctuary, the vantage point from the altar feeling dizzyingly high as he looks over confused, but eager faces.

Erica hands him a mic and smiles.

“Um… Hi, everyone.” he starts, his voice cracking with nerves. He coughs. “I’m, um… I’m Stiles, though you all know me already. At least you think you do. You might be surprised. Anyway, I’m… I’m here today to talk about love, trust, and second chances.”

Derek snorts. Stiles licks his lips nervously, but refuses to be deterred. With renewed purpose, he continues, “You see, everyone, I made some mistakes recently. And I have a confession to make. When I first came to this church, I had one thing on my mind—and it wasn’t God. It was the man you see sitting besides me, our very own Reverend Hale. He was… He was amazing. The greatest man I ever met, I thought. And I… I’m just Stiles. I thought that we were just too different for it to work. Not even that, actually—really, I wasn’t afraid that we were so different we wouldn’t work. I was afraid that even if we were different, it _would_. I needed to protect myself. So I thought if I made myself the same, we could be happy.  

“It’s not that I intended to lie forever,” Stiles turns to Derek now, sermonizing completely him, “I didn’t. I wanted to tell you, especially as we got closer. But then… But then I saw you preaching, and I realized I didn’t want the fantasy to end, because I was still afraid. When you preach, it’s amazing. You _love_ what you do. And when I hear you preach, I feel that same love, that same passion—only I don’t connect with God. I connect with _you_. I was afraid if that went away… Everything else would, too.

“I know that an explanation is not enough,” Stiles continues, taking a few pleading steps closer to where Derek is sitting. “Even an apology is small potatoes, even though I am _monumentally_ sorry for what I’ve done. So I ask—I _beg_ —for your charity. Your forgiveness, even though I don’t deserve it. I understood as a child, just my wants and not a thought for what was best for the future. We both have healing to do, for vastly different reasons—and I thought I could avoid that mess, because I thought it would end badly. But now I see it’s not a mess at all—it’s an adventure that we started together, and I want to finish it with you.

“We’re perfect together, Derek, and we can do away with everything, all that ‘in part’ stuff that kept us from realizing it. Kept _me_ from realizing it. That’s why I’m here today. I want to start over. I want to you to get to know me, face to face. No matter who or what tries to get in our way. I won’t let any of that stuff affect me anymore, because I love you, and I promise with all my heart that that’s real.”

There’s silence in the church; no one even dares breathe as everyone turns to Derek, waiting to hear his reaction.

He doesn’t say anything at all. But he looks like he’s listening, and that’s the only hook Stiles needs.

“Now, I wanted to finish this with a big romantic gesture. And at first, I thought, hymns! But that’s not me, and I’m done pretending. So, here’s something that _is_ me, and it’s you, and our families and friends… It’s, well, it’s everything, isn’t it?”

“Oh no,” Derek’s eyes widen, but he’s smiling as he breaks his conflicted silence, and the congregation lets out a delighted laugh as the choir stands, the piano clunking out their intro as they begin to sing.

            “ _I may not always love you_

_But long as there are stars above you_

_You never need to doubt it_

_I’ll make you so sure about it”_

“So what do you say?” Stiles thanks God for his mic as he speaks over the choir’s attempted harmonies, grinning from ear to ear.

“I say you should have put _that_ in one of your voicemails,” Derek laughs as he stands up, closing the distance between himself and Stiles and placing a hand easily on Stiles’ shoulder, “But okay. I forgive you, Stiles.”

“ _God only knows what I’d be without you._ ”

“I’m so glad,” Stiles flushes.

“I know,” Derek leans closer, his smile widening. “So am I.”

“ _God only knows what I’d be without you_.”

The kiss that follows somehow finds its way to YouTube, and is apparently passionate enough for the people of America to land Beacon Hills United back on the map.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mmm taste that cheese
> 
> Bible translation used was from the KJV
> 
> Stay tuned for the epilogue, folks--finally getting the content y'all were promised!! ;) That being said, it will probably likely not be up until next week; I really want to make sure it's perfect so I'm going to take a little more time to edit!


	18. You got that healing that I want (Epilogue)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Stiles and Derek's honeymoon, which means it's time to finally consummate their marriage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said I wasn't going to post until next week, but I was so excited for y'all to see this that I decided to break that little rule and finish the editing early! ^_^
> 
> Title taken from "Marvin Gaye" by Charlie Puth & Meghan Trainor.
> 
> This chapter contains graphic sexual descriptions/content

“God, that flight was brutal.” Derek closes the door to their suite, huffing out a huge, fatigued sigh. Stiles laughs.

“That’s what you get for letting two seven-year-olds talk you into honeymooning at Disneyworld,” he teases.

“Hey now,” Derek muses, theatrically rolling his eyes at Stiles while he searches for a place to stow the family’s luggage, “I’ve always wanted to go, and anywhere the kids are happy, I’m satisfied. Besides,” he grunts as he throws the remainder of their luggage in the closet towards the back of the main room, closing the doors with firm _thwack_ , “ _I’m_ not the one who convinced my dad to come along.”

“It’s childcare.” Stiles shrugs, eliciting a chuckle from Derek.

“Judging from how excited he was to take them to meet Ariel, I somehow don’t think he thinks of it that way,” he teases, crossing the room to close the distance between himself and his husband.

 _Husband_. The word still feels new to Stiles, but even as he was waiting to be given away at his wedding just half a day ago, it felt completely, undoubtedly right.

The wedding had been everything he’d ever dreamed of. Set for a start-of summer-date, they decorated the entirety of Beacon Hills in blue and gold and invited seemingly everyone in the city to watch the ceremony and celebrate over dinner and dancing afterwards. Both Stiles and Derek were giddy the morning of, a spirit that seemed to carry over the entire wedding party, even despite the tears that flowed freely (though mostly from Laura and Stiles’ father) throughout the day. Agnes proved a surprisingly good officiant, and Lydia and Erica served as maids of honour for the ceremony, which was followed by what everyone said was one of the most beautiful backyard receptions they’d ever seen, decorated almost in full with streamers and variously-shaped paper cut-outs done by a very enthusiastic group of Scott and Allison’s friends.

Really, though, they could’ve had Derek marry themselves beside a dumpster at high noon with no one in attendence and Stiles would still considered the day the happiest one of his life. He was _still_ on that high, organ music and _you may now kiss the groom_ pounding in his ears, when Derek leaned in to kiss Stiles, first cautiously and then more deeply, more aggressive and meaningful.

Stiles takes a step back, and then another, Derek’s hands sliding to Stiles’ waist and then his ass to keep a firm grip as they walk, still kissing, their bodies pressed firmly and inseperably together. Stiles keeps walking, his hands raking Derek’s back as he goes.

“Wait,” Derek separates, and suddenly they’re in the bedroom, Stiles grinning haphazardly and Derek looking like he might throw up.

“You okay?” Stiles sobers a little, peeling himself off Derek enough to study his face. Derek flushes.

“I’m fine, it’s just…”

“You’ve been celibate for a while,” Stiles nods.

Derek grunts, blushing and looking away from Stiles as he stammers, “We’re married now. You waited, and that’s special to me.  And now it’s all good and allowed—we can do this. I _want_ to do this. I’m just… I haven’t…”

“It’s okay to be afraid. Sex is scary sometimes. Even for me.” Stiles plants a quick, wet kiss on Derek’s neck, “If you want to consummate now, that’s fine. If not, we can wait until you’re ready. Even if that’s never. Either way,” he brings a hand to Derek’s cheek and gives it a comforting pat, “I’m going to take care of you. Okay?”

Derek nods, crumpling back into Stiles’ arms and nestling his face into the crook of Stiles’ neck. He inhales deeply for a moment, clutching at Stiles’ shirt so hard his nails dig into Stiles’ back, and then exhales, his breath first shaking and then finally steadying as he straightens himself up, kissing Stiles on the cheek.

“All right,” he gives a teetering, but somehow still sure smile, “Let’s do it.”

Stiles has to give the abstinence crowd credit—when Derek’s finally done kicking off his clothes, lying on the bed in nothing but his briefs, Stiles is nearly knocked over by the sight. Derek, too, looks charged by the sight of Stiles, his eyes lit and dick already twitching with excitement as Stiles teases off his shirt.

“You ready, big guy?” Stiles coos, stepping towards the bed and putting a knee down on the mattress surface. Derek spooks and recoils, prompting Stiles to lay a cautious hand on his thigh.

“Seriously, we can back out whenever and just wait for the kids to get back. We could nap or something, or check out Tomorrowland?”

“No, keep going.” Derek brings his hand to Stiles’, pressing firmly and guiding it upwards and inwards, Stiles inhaling shakily at the feeling of Derek’s skin and body heat under his fingertips.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Derek nods, “Just… It’s happening pretty fast.”

“Gotcha. We can take it slower.”

Derek grunts in contentment, then wraps his free arm around Stiles’ hips, not-so-accidentally brushing his ass as he goes and pulling Stiles close, mashing their mouths together. Stiles drags his hand to Derek’s briefs, lingering for a moment on the warm spot between Derek’s legs before Derek takes the final initiative and places Stiles’ hands under his waistband.

“I want to feel you,” Stiles separates his mouth from Derek’s long enough to breathe into Derek’s ear before nuzzling himself into his neck. He kisses wetly and slowly, teasingly, gauging Derek’s response from the way his cock stirs and he grunts helplessly. Stiles chuckles and grabs hold of Derek’s cock, running a hand over the already-slick head. Derek bucks his hips in response, and Stiles finds himself hardening against the movement. He wants to flip Derek over right then and there, slide right into him and fuck him hard and fast and desperate to make up for all this time waiting, but he restrains himself, milking Derek steadily until he’s a whining mess beside him.

“Top or bottom?” Stiles mutters against Derek’s shoulder, sucking lightly.

“Bottom,” Derek sighs out contentedly, rolling over expectantly without so much as a word from Stiles.

“Eager beaver,” Stiles giggles. He kisses his way down over Derek’s shoulder blades, then his back, tracing all the way down gingerly and sweetly. “Lift for me?” he taps Derek on the hips once his mouth arrives at Derek’s lower back, and Derek obliges wordlessly.

It takes about three seconds for Stiles to get Derek’s briefs off, and then he’s frozen, staring at quite literally the most perfect ass he’s ever seen.

And the most flooring part is, it’s all his.

Bending down, he strokes along the curves of Derek’s ass, grabbing and squeezing and pushing his cheeks together before he spreads them apart and planting a slow, testing kiss near the hole, eliciting a surprised yelp from Derek.

“Is that a yes or a no?” Stiles keeps kissing, relishing the way Derek’s body shivers and moves in response.

“That’s a yes,” Derek grunts.

“You’re very sensitive.”

“I’m… aware— _Fuck!_ ” Stiles licks along Derek’s ass, moving a hand so he can slide it under Derek’s bucking hips and stroke his perineum. Stiles laughs into Derek and keeps going with his tongue, progressing to get less careful and more teasing, almost exploratory, until Derek is practically shaking.

“I’m gonna try to put a finger in now, if that’s okay?” Stiles nips one of Derek’s cheeks as he pulls away, met by a moan of protest.

“Do whatever,” Derek pants, “Just don’t stop.”

“I’ll get my lube.” Stiles lifts off Derek and sprints out of the room, skating between closets and trying to find his suitcase.

“It’s in your carry-on bag, I saw you pack it in there a couple days ago!” Derek calls from the bedroom. “Hurry up!”

“Thanks, trying!” Stiles calls back, digging until he finds the bag, triumphantly pulling out his lube bottle and already squirting the contents into his hand as he runs back over to Derek, who in the meantime has rolled over and begun to play with himself absent-mindedly, trying to keep the mood going.

“Um, sin,” Stiles teases, but the sight excites him, and he feels his own dick stir.

“Um, hurry up,” Derek quips back, smirking as Stiles’ face visibly falls when he takes his hand off himself, rolling back over onto his stomach and wriggling his hips expectantly.

“Okay, okay…” Stiles sets the lube down and spreads the amount in his hand over two of his fingers, then leans down to do a little more mouth-work before finally tracing one finger over Derek’s hole, slowly beginning to tease it in. Derek, instinctively, loosens and tightens himself, helping Stiles slide in. Stiles waits for Derek to relax before he starts to slowly, carefully, pull his finger out, and then in again.

“I’m going to put a second finger in now, is that okay?” Stiles continues on the rhythm he and Derek have built up, pushing a little harder and going a little further.

“Yes!” Derek suddenly stiffens, and Stiles knows he’s found Derek’s prostate. He smiles and slows down, easing in a second finger, making Derek nice and loose as he twists around inside him, maybe a little bit carelessly. But Derek doesn’t seem to notice; he gasps and squirms into Stiles’ touch, eyes closed against the sensation of pleasure Stiles can tell Derek had forgotten he could feel.

Had forgotten he _deserved_.

“Does that feel good?” Stiles purrs. Derek nods. “Good,” Stiles speeds up a little, and Derek twists into his movements, bucking his hips to meet each thrust of Stiles’ fingers.

“You’re close to coming already, aren’t you?” Stiles keeps talking in a lilting voice, practically sing-song as he tries to find a balance between teasing and comfort, his chest swelling with excitement and affection when he sees how well Derek responds to the tone. He laughs lightly to himself. “Look at you, so excited. Wanna come like this, Derek, with my two fingers inside you? Or would you rather I use my cock?”

“Your dick, please.” Derek chokes out. “Oh, gosh, _please_.”

“No need to beg, babe.” Stiles kisses Derek’s back, “I’m asking because I want you to be comfy and want to know what you want, not because you need my permission.”

Derek breathes a heavy sigh of relief and relaxes a little further. “I know,” he says, “But it’s still nice to hear.”

Stiles leaves a lingering, comforting kiss on Derek’s shoulder before sliding off to get a condom and more lube.

“Okay, this might be a little tight, but I’m going to go slow. Let me know if it hurts, okay?” Stiles finishes spreading lube on his dick and gets ready over Derek again, sliding his hands under Derek’s hips to bring his ass up and back a little, lined up with him. The mere thought of being inside Derek, being _with_ him after all this time, nothing holding them back, is enough to excite Stiles to the point of being completely hard almost immediately, his erection stiff against Derek’s hole.

“Ready?” he asks, hoping with every fibre of his being for a yes.

“Yeah.” Derek grunts, and it’s all the permission Stiles needs to start working himself in. Derek is tight, and stiffens at the feeling of Stiles’ head inching inside him, so it’s a bit of work—but Stiles has never been one to back down from a challenge. He grips Derek’s hips harder, coos as he soothes him with his hands to get him to relax. Finally, he’s in, and Stiles starts to thrust, first tentatively, delicately, just to establish some depth without much need for rhythm. It’s only a matter of time before he gets settled, though, and Derek’s soft moans and short, huffing sighs act as his guide as to the pace. It’s amazing, for Stiles, the sight of Derek underneath him, taking him so completely and without complaint, his whole body shuddering at the feeling of so much of Stiles all at once, in so many places.

“Faster,” Derek breathes, and Stiles goes faster, nipping Derek’s neck.

“Deeper,” he demands, and Stiles grips him harder with digging nails, happy to oblige.

“ _Don’t stop!_ ” Derek bites down on a mouthful of bedsheets, moaning as Stiles takes the opportunity to change the pace, his motions becoming smooth and fluid. Stiles is close, and it only takes a few seconds before he comes hard, working through the orgasm as Derek inches closer.

“Is that good?” he checks in, bringing a hand up to run it through Derek’s hair. Derek squirms in response.

“I’m close,” he growls, “ _Keep going_.”

Stiles is happy to oblige, and soon enough Derek goes stiff underneath him, completely silent and unmoving as he lets Stiles work every inch of him.

“ _Fuck_. Oh, God, oh, Jesus, Stiles-- _fuck!_ ”

The words hang in the air, mixed with Stiles’ laughter, as Derek comes hard, going lax and silent.

“How was that, love?” Stiles plants a long, lingering kiss between Derek’s shoulder blades before slides out of him slowly, arms still wrapped around Derek’s waist as he lies down next to him, head nestled against Derek’s chest, listening with blissed satisfaction to his pounding heart.

“Would you believe me if I said perfect?” Derek’s hands trace absent-minded patterns over Stiles’ arms as he smiles, eyes cloudy with bliss and satisfaction.

“Really?” Stiles blushes. Derek nods enthusiastically. “Well,” he clowns, “I _did_ get you to use the Lord’s name in vain _twice_ , so--”

“Oh, shut up!” Derek nips playfully at Stiles’ ear, and they tussle for a moment before settling back together, calm and sated.

“So…” Derek breaks the heavy, dozing silence, frowning as he turns to Stiles. “What happens now?”

Stiles turns over and stretches, yawning, before heaving himself up into a seated position at the edge of the bed.

“We get up,” he turns back over to prod at Derek, who jumps at the playful contact and gets up in turn, “And hurry, because we’ve got fastpasses for Peter Pan’s Flight at 6:15.”

“So this is my life now?” Derek grins, standing up and scooping his clothes off the floor, “Sex scheduled into the fifteen minutes right before we go to pick up our kids?”

Stiles laughs. “Hey, you knew what you were signing up for.”

 “And thank God I followed through,” Derek grins.

“Blasphemy again, wow.” Stiles teases, but Derek just shakes his head, crossing the room to hand Stiles’ his pants with his own clothes still only half-on.

“No,” he grabs Stiles by the back of his neck, gently pulling him close again, “It wasn’t.”

And when they kiss, Stiles sees exactly what Derek means.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finished!!! Took me a very long time, but it feels amazing to be finished.
> 
> Thanks so much for sticking it out and being so patient with the unplanned hiatuses, etc, y'all, as well as for all the lovely comments & encouragement! I seriously couldn't have asked for better readers, I really hope you guys enjoyed it. <3
> 
> And I would like to extend one final thank you to roadsider, who beta'd the first half of the fic and really helped shape even the ending through their initial feedback in those first few chapters. You rock!


End file.
